Bad Things Happen
by Ice Queen1
Summary: The collection of my Bad Things Happen Bingo card on Tumblr. Every chapter will be the fulfillment of a prompt/square. Parts may wind up incorporated into other, longer fics, depending on when they happen. 7th Chapter: Big Brother Instinct 2018 Reboot
1. Chapter 1

I should be in bed. It's nearly 4AM. I live on a farm. I should just waive my right to sleep. But I finally worked out at least one fic from my bingo card. Takes place while they're POW's, after Magnum gets his wound cauterized and it gets infected. It started off as Accidentally Hurt By a Friend trope requested by chrisii-the-random-whump-writer's, but I'm thinking it counts more as amell-fan's request of Wound That Would Not Heal. All chapters will be one shots, I just don't want to post them as separate stories since they're all filling the same challenge/theme. Onwards!

* * *

"_Jesus_, Nuzo…"

"I know, I know, I _know_…" There was a heavy sigh of frustration somewhere to his left. "I'm out of gunpowder though, unless you have some spare bullets with you."

Thomas couldn't stop the quiet whine that made it past his lips.

No. Not again. Not again, not again notagainnotagain…

"Shh, shh…" someone rumbled from just above him. "You're okay. We got you. Shh…"

It was supposed to be soothing. _It should have been soothing_. And for a moment, Thomas let the relief wash over him that yes, yes, he was okay.

Until something pressed down _hard_ on his lower stomach, and he shrieked, flinging himself to the opposite side despite the hands pressing down on him from every angle. The dull, persistent ache he'd been distantly aware of flared to hot, all-encompassing agony that swept up from his side and down to his toes as he tried to curl in on himself without touching it, swallowing back bile and trying desperately to breathe in through his nose to keep from throwing up because _Jesus_ he didn't want to imagine how much _worse_ that would make it.

Dirt pressed against his cheek, he could taste it in his mouth mixing with the blood from a torn cheek, but it was so wonderfully, blissfully _cool_ against his scorched skin, he found himself pressing his face further into it, desperate to feel anything, _anything _except the pain in his stomach.

"_Baa een dast nazaned!_" he protested. At least, he tried. He could imagine the words forming on his tongue, tried to get his mouth to move around the syllables to get it out, to tell them not to touch him, but it came out mangled even to his ears. Breathless and without sound, little more than harsh panting as he tried his best not to die. Not to move. Not to _think_. "_Baa een dast nazaned_…_ baa een dast nazaned…"_

Hands tentatively touched his shoulder, cold against his skin even through his worn t-shirt. "Thomas, buddy, you have to let us take a look…"

He hunched his shoulders, pulling away as well he could from the unwanted touch. "_Baa een dast nazaned."_ He repeated it over and over and over as if it were a mantra to keep himself centered and aware as best he could.

Even if the last thing he wanted to be was _aware_.

"Do you know what he's saying, Nuz?"

Thomas heard a rustle of fabric. "I know enough to get by, guys. This shit wasn't covered in the DLI handbook."

"Thomas. Buddy. You with us?"

Thomas didn't move.

"He's still conscious, right?" the same voice asked, suddenly sounding worried.

No. Worried was the right word.

"_Thomas_."

His name was spoken so forcefully, he couldn't help the flinch.

Panicked. _Panicked_ was the word.

Gentle hands touched his face, a calloused thumb swiping across his cheeks at a dampness he hadn't realized was even there.

"Thomas Sullivan Magnum, I need you to listen to me. Okay? I don't know how much you can hear, but…it's bad, Thomas. It's not healing the way it's supposed to, and the infection is getting worse. Do you understand?"

Images flashed through his mind, unwanted and with such force, he flinched from them, twisting further into the ground, despite the hands on his face and now his shoulder trying to hold him still. Nuzo leaning over him, telling him '_this is gonna hurt_'. The taste of pine against his tongue as he bit down with enough force to break the stick between his teeth. The smell of burnt flesh and the reek of burnt powder.

_I'm gonna die here…I'm gonna die here…Imgonnadie_….

"You're not going to die, Thomas. Do you understand me?" The once gentle hands gripped tighter against his face. "I'm not going to let you. Not happening. I didn't let you die in Korea, I didn't let you die in Coronado, and I am not gonna let you die now. Understand?"

No. Not really. Because it sure as shit felt like he was dying now. Static pushed in, threatening to drown everything else out until he heard a familiar voice.

"We need to get you on your back, though, so we can see. Can we move you?"

Magnum curled tighter on himself, despite the pull against his side, and he twisted his face away from the gentle hands.

No.

"_Come **on**_, Thomas!" someone snarled in frustration. "Just let us _try_ to help you, would you?"

"That's not helping."

"Neither is he!"

"Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole…I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul."

It was a deep, familiar rumble, quiet and low and soothing against the static in his head, like the comforting roll of the ocean tide against the sand.

"In the fell clutch of circumstance…"

Thomas could still hear other voices in the background, but they faded in and out against the tide of the ocean. The more he tried to concentrate on the others, the more distracting the ocean became.

"I have not winced nor cried aloud…"

There was…_something_ about that voice. It didn't argue. It didn't yell. It didn't make him want to curl tighter in defense, desperate to protect himself.

The gentle hands were back, cradling his head in their palms as they lifted him from the dirt floor. He flinched away, or at least, _tried_, but the rumble of the sea rolled over him.

"Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloodied but unbowed."

Someone pulled at his legs, cautiously straightening them out and Thomas couldn't help the moan of pain as it pulled his wound tight against his skin.

"Shh…we got you, Thomas. It's gonna be okay. TC?"

More hands, this time on his ankles.

No. _No no no nonononono_….

"Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the Horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds and will find me unafraid."

He tried to pull his feet up, but the cautious grip tightened around his ankles, pinning them to the ground. He tried to throw himself sideways again, but this time, the hands that once held his face cradled between them pressed his shoulders down with bruising force and he couldn't stop the desperate whine that escaped his lips.

Not again.

_Not again_.

He pressed himself back, willing himself to disappear into the floor, trying to twist in their unrelenting grasp. The hands on his shoulders released him and for a moment, he was free but before he could pull himself upright, the hands were back, having caught his own and pressed down even harder this time.

_"Nakhair. Nakhair, nakhair, nakhair…_" he pleaded desperately. _Don't do this_.

For a moment, no one moved. No one made a sound. And for that brief moment, Thomas thought they'd listened.

Except they didn't let up.

They didn't let go.

"God, I hope you don't remember this…"

And then the world was on fire. Agony ripped through him like a living, breathing _thing_ determined to swallow him whole. He bucked against the hands that held him down, but they kept him pinned to the dirt no matter how much he thrashed against them. He tried to twist away but the searing, pervasive _pain_ followed.

Someone was screaming, and he desperately tried to cover his ears to block it out, but his arms remained pinned across his chest.

It took longer than it should've to realize it wouldn't have helped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_!"

"Hurry up!"

"I'm fucking _trying_!"

Something sharp pressed against his side, digging into the already damaged flesh like talons until Magnum felt something _give_ and he fell, panting heavily and pressed into the familiar presence behind him, the relief at having the object gone a blessed reprieve by comparison.

The familiar tang of copper and iron was replaced by the stench of something rotted and dying and he couldn't help gagging as the smell hit him.

He wasn't the only one.

"_Je_-sus," someone swore, followed by muffled coughing. "No wonder he was getting worse."

The stabbing pain was gone, reduced to a throbbing ache that still pulsed from his stomach to heart, but at least no one was digging around beneath his skin anymore.

"Yeah, well, this may be a short-lived victory if they don't listen and bring us something to treat the infection."

"They want us alive. Him most of all."

"Nuz…TC…we gotta get him out of here. Or he's not gonna make it."

The words should've bothered him more than they did.

Except…

He knew they were right.

"They're gonna go too far one day. I mean…_shit_. Just look at him. And he's not gonna do himself any favors and lay low. That just ain't in him."

There was a stretch of silence, and Magnum felt himself start to drift. Every ounce of energy he had burned up in futile resistance, and now he couldn't bring himself to move. His head pounded, and his side throbbed. His throat felt raw and he could taste blood on his tongue. Hands no longer held him in place, but he no longer had the energy or will to resist. Cautious fingers trailed through his lank hair while another rubbed endless circles across the palm of his hand over the crescent shaped gouges from his nails biting into them as he clenched his hands into fists.

"He doesn't leave us again." The tone was final.

"TC, here. Come swap out with me. You can hold him at a better angle."

Had he the energy, he would've protested at being moved again, but he was beyond exhausted. Something warm dribbled down his skin as he was forced to turn so he was mostly on his side. Everything was growing distant. Like it was happening to someone else, and he was hard pressed to care.

At least he wasn't alone this time.

A much larger hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder.

The deep, soothing rumble of the ocean whispered above him, drowning out the other voices, and he latched onto it like a man drowning.

"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."

The darkness pulled at him, and he was happy to let it take him.

* * *

While working on Wrong Side, I decided to do the Bad Things Happen Bingo for when I get stuck (Wrong Side is primarily action sequences, because I'm an idiot and picked a subject that I knew well, but also hate writing). Anyway. Feel free to come and play over on Tumblr! Find me disappearinginq! And, as always, lemme know what you think!

Poem TC is quoting is Invictus by William Ernest Henley.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Requested by pandigirl19 over on Tumblr who asked for Magnum to be locked in a cage. Ya'll can blame the Hardy Boys for this one. Continuing the Bad Things Happen Bingo card: Locked in a cage. While investigating missing dogs, Juliet and Magnum find themselves in a rather unfortunate position.

* * *

Juliet groaned as consciousness returned, slowly, and _dear God_, what had she been drinking? Her head throbbed in time with her heart and she reflexively put her hand up to her forehead before several things occurred to her.

In all of her hangovers – few and far between as they were – they never centered at the _back_ of her head like this, and, much more puzzling, she could barely move because of a warm, heavy weight pressed in on one side of her, tangled underneath half of her and half on top. Something sharp dug into the back of her neck which wasn't helping her headache.

_What the bloody hell_…

She finally managed to pry her eyes open, blinking to clear her vision.

It helped less than she liked. It was dark, save for dim light filtering through the bars and dozen or more circular holes in the walls.

_Bars_? _Holes_?

She attempted to sit up and promptly whacked her head against the low ceiling, which naturally just made her headache worse, sending spots dancing across her vision as she collapsed back down with a groan.

This time, when she opened her eyes, she didn't move, cautiously taking in her surroundings.

The ceiling was only a few inches from her face, her head resting against the back of the cage and her legs folded uncomfortably to fit in the small space, the flat of her feet pressed against the door. Small air holes lined the sides, higher up near the ceiling, and the door was barred with similar circles cut into the metal.

It was a dog kennel, she realized. One of those new, extremely expensive 'high anxiety' cages that looked more like something from medieval torture than a dog crate designed for destructive animals with separation anxiety. She almost laughed, and then snorted in disgust. This is what she got for helping Magnum with one of his missing pet cases.

High valued pets had gone missing all over the island – championship level dogs in the AKC and working animals from the K9 units and working homes. Were those the cases Magnum took on? No. He took the one from the eleven-year-old who's emotional support dog for his autism was stolen, who just so happened to be in the same yard as a three-thousand-dollar Pharaoh hound.

On the upside, she was fairly positive they'd found the kennel owner selling off the stolen dogs, given their current predicament.

If not, she was filing a complaint with customer service.

The kennel was likely intended for a larger breed dog, like a Saint Bernard or Tibetan Mastiff, but it was still pretty tight for a human. Even one that was only five and a half feet tall.

It was even tighter with _two_ people crammed inside.

Magnum was stuffed in beside her, half on top of her and half underneath her, his neck bent at an incredibly painful looking angle, his shoulders pressed into the corner of the kennel and his legs contorted to fit in the space enough to close the door behind them. They'd actually had to take off his shoes to make him fit – at least, she assumed that's why he was barefoot. She couldn't imagine any other reason.

She realized she couldn't feel her phone in her pocket and cursed lightly. Of course they took it. Calling for help would be entirely too convenient. A quick search of Magnum's pockets and she confirmed what she already suspected – they'd taken his, too.

"Magnum," she tried, shifting slightly so she could at least face him instead of being crammed with his forehead pressed against the top of her head. Something caught her hair, pulling it painfully against her scalp, and she reached blindly where she thought she'd caught it on the cage somehow, but her fingers were met with tacky and warm that stuck her hair to her head and…whatever the hell _that_ was. She winced and hissed and gently pried her hair loose and managed to twist around enough to get a look at Magnum.

She couldn't help the sympathetic wince when she saw his face. He hadn't gotten hit in the back of the head like she had – or maybe he had, and it was just his luck he'd been hit more than once, because shy of a sedan going thirty miles an hour, not much seemed to take the detective down with one blow. The side of his face from mid forehead down to his cheek was swollen and puffy, darkening the skin around it a spectacular shade of blue and purple already. She'd be surprised if he could open that eye in the coming hours. The tacky substance in her hair was blood from where the skin split at his temple that had freely run down the side of his face, giving the macabre appearance of shedding bloody tears. Unsurprisingly, he was still unconscious.

She tried to move out from underneath him, to see if she could kick the door loose with brute force or maybe just lever the door open with enough pressure, but she was too tangled up in Magnum's limbs to manage. She was a little too short and without him able to hold his legs out of the way of hers, she couldn't get enough space to pull back far enough to do any measurable damage.

"Magnum," she tried again.

Nothing.

She elbowed him in the ribs as best she could with her arm chicken-winged underneath them. She needed him awake, but she was trying to avoid being abjectly cruel with what was probably a grade 2 concussion on his part.

"_Magnum_," she tried louder.

He groaned slightly, but his eyelids didn't so much as flutter.

She smacked top of the cage open palmed, making even herself wince at the clang of metal on skin, much louder than she'd intended.

_That_ got a reaction.

Magnum jolted violently awake, exploding into motion before his eyes were even fully open. His head reared back into to hit the wall of the crate much like she had, his hands and feet coming up between them in a display of flexibility she would be jealous of, except for the fact that he used them to shove her violently against the opposite wall of the cramped space, pinning her there with his palms pressed against her shoulders and his knees against her thighs.

"_Ow_, Magnum!" she protested, bringing up her own hands as best she could to grip his forearms. "Same side!"

She could see the moment he recognized her – his dark, sharp gaze softening slightly when he realized it was her.

She could also see he was thoroughly concussed, given the unevenness of his pupils and the way he had to squint to see her.

"Higgins?"

"Yes, Magnum, me. Could you…" she glanced meaningfully at his hands, still pressed with bruising force against her shoulders. The space was already small enough without being crammed into an even smaller area.

He didn't let go, just let his elbows bend slightly, but it was good enough.

"Are we…" Magnum cast an appraising eye over their prison.

"Literally in the dog house? Yes. My guess is Rick's intel was correct – we found who's been stealing dogs, but they…" she trailed off, frowning.

Magnum…wasn't acting normal.

No, not _normal_. That was unfair. They were crammed into an unbreakable dog kennel with no way to call for help and he was sporting a pretty decent head injury, so there was some allowances she was willing to make, but then she considered how blasé he'd been about being left adrift with a homicidal federal agent, or even the general sunshine-y mood of being in the hospital after he'd been kidnapped, stabbed, again left to tread water for hours, shot and thrown from a moving vehicle by a psychotic ex.

This was different.

"Magnum, are you…"

"Shut up," he snapped. He was breathing hard but his breaths were shallow, his eyes squeezed shut and she could see him curling further in on himself as best he could with the limited space, as if trying to make himself smaller.

Or the space seem bigger.

"Are you…claustrophobic?" she asked, not unkindly.

Magnum jerked his head once. "No," he ground out. "I have a thing with cages."

Juliet felt about two inches tall.

As soon as he said it, she remembered the conversation with Rick traipsing through the jungle – about how for long stretches, Magnum was kept in solitary confinement and they didn't know if he was dead or alive.

She doubted _solitary_ was wide open spaces with plenty of light and few bars.

"I'm sorry, I –"

"_Stop talking_," he snarled, biting his lower lip. "Talking makes it smaller, so just…give me a second, okay?"

She clapped her mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth. She even held her breath, watching and waiting because there was little else to do. If talking made it seem smaller, she doubted any form of touch, comforting or not, was going to make anything better, but at the same time, if he had a panic attack in such a small space…

It took a moment for her to realize that Magnum was talking to himself. Muttering would be a more apt description, but she could catch a few words.

The words to Henley's _Invictus_. Over and over and over again, except he didn't get slower as he repeated them, he instead sounded like he was ramping up, skipping over portions of it or getting it out of order the faster he recited.

She knew an exercise in mindfulness when she heard one. Except…if Magnum was pulling on something to keep him here and now and _here and now_ was the problem, it wasn't going to work.

Fully prepared to get smacked or worse for her troubles, she gripped his arms in her hands with bruising force. "Thomas Magnum, _breathe_," she ordered.

Magnum's fingers tightened on her shoulders in response.

"Magnum, I need you to focus, and what you're doing clearly isn't working for you. We have plenty of air. It's uncomfortable but not crushing. We can get out of this, I promise you, but not if you hyperventilate and pass out on top of me again like some sort of wilting flower."

It was a gamble. Magnum seemed to do better with positive reinforcement, but she also understood a primal need for honesty and SITREP in dire straits. Besides, her bedside manner was more in line with that of a porcupine and false platitudes sounded like just that when coming from her. There was just as much of a chance she was going to make this worse rather than better, but besides swimming, sitting passively on the sidelines was top of the Things She was Shit At list.

Magnum stopped muttering to himself. She felt his arms relax marginally in her hands as he forced a breath out, inhaling sharply through his nose again as he forced himself to at least try and breathe normally.

"Are you okay?" she asked, when she saw his dark eyes blink open again. She cringed inwardly at the bright red of his left eye from petechial hemorrhaging. They hit him _hard_.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm…" he trailed off, and the muscles in his arms went rigid again. "Nope. Nope. Not okay. Nope, nope, _nopenopenope_…**fuck it**."

With no other warning, he flipped on his back, letting go of her shoulders so that his were pressed flat against the floor of the kennel. In the same motion, he reared his feet back, knees almost to his chin before slamming both feet as hard as he possibly could against the door.

The entire cage rattled but remained intact.

He pulled his legs back again and slammed them full force into the door once more. And again, and again, and again – there wasn't enough space for them to try it in tandem. Her knees would've smashed directly into his, and she was too short to get the same leverage Magnum could.

On the sixth or seventh try, she heard something crack, but it didn't sound like metal. On the other hand, maybe it was, because Magnum lurched forwards, twisting around and narrowly avoiding kicking her in the process as he reached through one of the bars he'd managed to kick loose. It was one, and only marginally, but there was enough space he could force his hand through, fumbling for the lock on the other side.

"Magnum, my hand is much smaller, I think I can – "

She'd barely gotten the words out when she heard a click and Magnum was out of the cage before she could finish the thought, never mind the sentence, scrambling forwards on all fours as fast as humanly possible and practically launching himself out of the kennel.

She waited a moment for him to get clear before sliding out after him. The lights were considerably brighter, and between the banging on the metal and her own head injury, they felt more like miniature suns than overhead halogens, and she had to squint to get her eyes to adjust.

"Good God, I'm going home and swallowing a bottle of aspirin," she muttered. She carefully touched a hand to the back of her head and felt the lump already forming. "Well, maybe first a trip to the ER."

Magnum stood several feet away, leaning over a pallet piled high with dog food bags, forehead pressed against the top bag. She could hear him fighting to get his breathing back under control, saw the way that his shoulders still shook from the adrenaline and turned away to allow the man a moment of privacy to collect himself again, except something caught her eye.

Magnum wasn't standing evenly, one foot lifted slightly off the floor. It would've been easily dismissed, except she could see it shaking even from where she stood. Worse than the rest of him, so it wasn't _just _shock.

So it _wasn't_ just metal she heard break.

"Magnum," she said carefully. "What did you-"

"It's not broken."

"That sounds very definitive for someone without a medical degree and a tenuous grasp of first aid," she retorted, reverting easily back to their familiar banter.

She could play the 'let's pretend this never happened' game with the best of them, and she was rewarded with a hoarse chuckle from the private investigator.

"All true, but I think we can agree that I'm a bit of a human disaster, can't we?" He lifted his head and stood up straight…ish. In the full light of the warehouse, his face looked even worse than it had when she first saw it. His left eye was definitely swelling shut, and she would be shocked if he didn't require stitches for the gash over his eye. He listed slightly to one side but caught himself on the pallets before he fell. "I know what broken feels like. This isn't it."

"Tendon?"

His foot jerked slightly and he hissed. "That would be a yes. Definitely a tendon. Ugh. That's four months recovery time."

Juliet fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead scanning the walls for hopefully a land line she could use to call Katsumoto and an ambulance. "Oh, _no_. You'll have to spend sixteen weeks on your back in the lap of luxury on an multi-million dollar island paradise estate, sipping drinks from coconut shells with little umbrellas in them while your friends and Kumu Mother Hen you."

Magnum actually laughed at that, and she felt a weight she didn't realize was there slowly lift from her chest. Psychology was not her forte, and she meant it when she said psychiatrists retired on cases like Magnum, but she was glad he was at least…well, something she was familiar with.

In denial.

She spotted the phone. "Don't move. I'm calling back up."

"Uh, could we not mention the part where we were locked in a dog kennel?" Magnum asked. "Not for any real reason, just…you know…kinda embarrassing, you know?"

"Said the man who knows no shame," she retorted. But she saw the flash of something in Magnum's gaze. Something more than just worry or awkwardness.

There was something darker there. Something she wasn't prepared to try and understand – maybe not ever.

She thought about how to this day, Magnum never called himself a prisoner.

"You think _I_ want to admit that we were locked in a cage together?" she said instead, rolling her eyes. "Please. I have a reputation to think about, Magnum."

Yes. Two could play at this game.

* * *

Author's Note: If you're wondering how the hell two grown adults were crammed into a cage, I highly recommend looking up Impact Crates, specifically, one called "the Colossal 750". It's four feet long, and 38 inches wide. I made it shorter in this, more like a Navy coffin rack, but you know what? It's fiction, and I can do it. Plus, if you look it up, you can see what a pain in the ass it would be to break out of it. Anyway. Higgins is still a challenge to write, but I hope I did her justice. It took until about episode 15 for me to really like her, probably because I share a lot of her negative traits and I don't like seeing them play out on a screen in front of me. But, lemme know what you think! And as always, feel free to come say hi over on Tumblr disappearinginq!


	3. Chapter 3

Dun dun dun - one more slot in my Bingo card. Short, without a hella lot of details, but hopefully it fulfills the request of "withholding medical treatment". Rick gets to be a badass. I get to gloss over proper procedure. I get to write some bromance. A good day was had by all. Onwards!

* * *

He'd never seen Thomas look so pale.

He pressed down harder on the bleeding wound, the overshirt already soaked through with red. Cold, pale fingers shook as they tried to push his away, but every ounce of strength was gone.

"Leave it," he snapped, ignoring the tremble in those scarred hands.

His response was so quiet, Rick almost missed it.

"_I'm going to bleed out_," Magnum slurred, his head falling back against the door of the Rover. His chest barely moved, breathing rapid and shallow as he fought to keep his eyes open, even though every time he blinked, they stayed closed longer and longer.

Rick shook his head. Whether to tell Magnum that, _no¸ you most certainly are-fucking-not_ or to ward off the sudden image of a disturbingly similar scenario, many years ago on the dirt floor of a makeshift cell block beneath the earth, feeling just as useless as he did now, trapped behind a locked cage door. "No, you're not."

" y'got 'nother….bullet?"

He _wished_.

"We have to go to a hospital," he snarled at the driver instead.

The young man behind the wheel didn't even bother to turn around. He was hunched over the wheel as if it would make him invisible, flinching when Rick raised his voice. "No. You're a-a soldier. I know it. You talk like one. You can make do."

"Look, kid, carjacking is one thing. Shooting someone is another. _Negligent homicide _is a whole _new_ matter entirely."

"Then I guess you best make sure he lives, huh?" the passenger said, leaning around to point his gun at Magnum. "Unless you think I ought to just put him out of his misery now, huh?"

Rick gritted his teeth. "You shoot him, you better be the fastest gun since Jesse James, because then I'll be out of reasons to let you live."

The man laughed. "You got balls, son. I'll give you that. But that's pretty ambitious for someone sitting on the wrong side of a gun, unarmed, with his hands tied together."

"Ambitious," Rick conceded in a flat voice. "But not wrong."

"Lee, maybe we _should_ – "

Lee turned on his partner so fast Rick was surprised he didn't get whiplash, cuffing the kid in the back of the head hard enough that the Rover swerved into the opposite lane before the driver wrestled it back onto the right side. "What'd I tell you, dumbass?"

The kid flinched. "Just drive."

"That's right. Just _drive_. I don't need you getting any smart ideas."

"If he dies, you'll be lucky to go down for murder one," Rick pointed out. He tried not to think about the warmth of the soaked rag beneath his fingers. Tried not to look at the growing stain on the high-end leather of the Rover's back seat. Or how cold Magnum's fingers were. Or the way his teeth chattered. Or tried to shift away from him every time Rick pressed down to stem the bleeding.

Lee scoffed. "And if we're _unlucky_, hot shot?" The gun remained pointed at Thomas, who twisted against the corner of the seat and the door, did little more than glare blearily at him.

"No one will ever find your bodies."

The kid's fearful eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and Rick knew he had his attention.

"Hawaii's a great place for body dumping," Rick continued conversationally. "Volcanoes. An ocean filled with currents that'll take you miles out in a matter of minutes and sharks that may or may not be tempted to take a chunk out of you. Rainforests so dense and damp that the only way anyone is gonna find you is by accident, fifty years from now when the only thing left behind is your teeth." Rick paused, considering it for a moment. "And that's assuming I leave you _with_ your teeth."

"You ain't doing squat from the back seat of a car with your hands tied, so sit back, shut the hell up, and take care of your friend before I decide I don't want to listed to him moan anymore," Lee snapped. "As you just helpfully pointed out, lots'a places for bodies 'round here."

"Or," Rick immediately snapped back, "you could just let us out at the fucking curb, I'll lie and tell them this is _your_ car, _you_ took us to the hospital after we were attacked by _someone else_, and you can drive off at your own pace while shock and trauma robs me of any cognitive memory of what you looked like when the police come calling."

"Lee – " the driver tried again, but shut up when Lee raised his hand again.

"Why would you do something like that?" Lee asked suspiciously.

"Because this ain't my car, and I don't give a rat's ass about what happens to it, or you, if you let my friend live," Rick said. He didn't mention the part where it belonged to a feisty British majordomo who took her job a little too seriously that would hunt them down later having made no such promise to leave them be.

He also didn't mention the fact that the Rover was equipped with Lo-Jack, they were already two hours late returning the vehicle to the Nest, and Higgins was going to wonder what the hell they were doing on the wrong side of the island when she got impatient and looked up their location on that fancy laptop of hers. He just hoped they were out of the vehicle by the time the cops showed up, because he had no doubt Higgins was the type to report the car stolen if she thought they were off joyriding, and there was no way Thomas was going to survive a high-speed chase.

Lee stared at him, assessing. Rick could see him mull it over in his head, weighing the benefits of not having a murder attached to him, hassle of having to hide a body if he did against the likelihood that Rick was lying about not telling the hospital staff the truth.

"It doesn't even have to be a hospital for chrissakes," Rick snapped. "I'll take a goddamn vet at this point. A CVS with a pharmacy and a phone, I _don't care_, but if you don't let us out of the vehicle, I'm going to make your lives a goddamn _nightmare_ for what remains of them."

"We'll think about it."

And Lee turned back around, completely ignoring the two men in the backseat.

Rick forcibly bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, desperately trying to channel his inner Nuzo to keep his mouth shut and not antagonize the bad guys into letting Thomas die out of spite for something _he_ said. The hospital was a good option. Lee just had to convince himself that it was his idea, and not something he'd been bullied into by a hostage.

Rick just didn't know if he had that kind of time.

The hole in Magnum's leg missed the artery, or he would've been dead already, but that didn't mean he was in the clear. Close range, the exit wound was large and messy, and besides a shirt, Rick had literally nothing for first aid. If they'd been driving the Ferrari, or even his Porsche, there wouldn't have even been space for them to be hostages, but that's what they got for doing Higgins a favor and taking the Rover in for service while they were already in town and she was entertaining another cultural tour of the Nest. It also meant no first aid kits.

He pressed down harder on the still bleeding wound, though the shirt was already saturated through. Magnum hardly moved under the new onslaught of pain, and Rick tried not to think about the sound he made that wasn't quite human. He was conscious, but just barely, his teeth chattering against the cold of shock, but he could do little more than let Rick try whatever he could to stem the flow of blood.

The car rounded a corner and came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road, skidding on the tarmac before coming to a stop.

It took all of Rick's effort to keep Thomas from flying off the seat, and he cried out as Rick's full weight came down on his leg, even has he braced his shoulder against the seatback in front of him.

"Shit, sorry Thomas," he apologized quickly, risking a glance out the windshield. He half expected traffic, or road work, but he almost laughed out loud when he saw the flashing red and blue lights.

Higgins was more paranoid than he gave her credit for. Or maybe Katsumoto was a better detective than he thought.

Either way, he owed them both drinks, because he'd never been happier to see half of HPD creating a road block with weapons drawn and pointed at him.

Two more cruisers pulled in behind them, blocking them from backing up and making an escape in reverse.

This was more than just Higgins being annoyed and vindictive about the car going rogue. Someone had to have reported the carjacking, or gunshots, or something, because this was a coordinated response – no matter how little Katsumoto liked Magnum, there was no way he would rope half the department into teaching him a lesson about joyriding without the majordomo's permission.

"This is HPD – step out of the car with your hands in the air where we can see them, nice and slow," Katsumoto called over the radio loudspeaker. "We have you surrounded. Don't do anything stupid."

Rick snickered, though it was probably more nervous relief than actual humor. "Ha, ha," he managed, reminiscent of Nelson Muntz. "I take back all previous offers. You're screwed."

"Am I?" Lee snarled.

Rick didn't have time to contemplate what the gunman could possibly mean before the man threw open his door, using it as a shield between himself and the police, swinging around to rip open the door Thomas was leaning against, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him out of the vehicle before Rick could protest or even think to stop him.

The soaked makeshift bandage came loose in his hand as Thomas was ripped out from underneath it, hauled up in front of Lee as a human shield.

Thomas didn't even scream, and maybe that was worse. He couldn't stand on his own, the only reason he was upright was Lee's arm around his neck and shoulder, the little color he had absolutely gone, his face ashen and pale. Rick was honestly shocked the abrupt change in position didn't make cause him to pass out, but dammit all if Magnum was a fighter. Dark eyes kept threatening to roll to the back of his head as he fought to stay conscious, one trembling hand on Lee's arm holding him up, and the other hovering shakily over the gunshot wound to his leg as he tried to keep his weight off of it.

"I already shot him once," Lee shouted at Katsumoto. "I'm okay with doing it again. Are you?"

Katsumoto's face didn't so much as flicker. That man should've been a professional poker player. "If your goal is to get out of this alive, I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah?" Lee snarled, digging the muzzle of the pistol into Magnum's jaw with bruising force. "Well, maybe I got different plans."

"Your intent suicide by cop?" Katsumoto retorted. "We can do that. But first, release the hostage."

"This guy?" asked Lee, his tone suddenly pitching towards mania. "This guy, right here?" He gave Magnum a slight shake. "Nah. I don't think so. I kinda like the sounds he makes." And with that, he took the gun from Magnum's jaw to shove against the wound in his leg.

The ragged scream barely made it past Magnum's lips before Rick slammed into Lee, catching the gunman in the side with his shoulder hard enough he heard the crack of ribs. He collided with such force he actually knocked Thomas forwards and away from them, his friend half catching himself with one hand – just enough to not smash his teeth out on the concrete – before collapsing to the ground.

Rick didn't see any of it. Didn't hear the police shouting, didn't hear Katsumoto order the other officers not to shoot, didn't hear the go ahead for the EMT's.

His vision tunneled. He grabbed Lee by the hair, twisting it as hard as he could, his nails digging into the man's skull as he yanked his head up by the hair only to smash it down against the road with an audible crack.

"_Shoot **my** friend, **will you**_?" Rick snarled through gritted teeth, gripping the gunman's head in his bloodied fingers. "_Refuse to take him to a hospital, **huh**_?" He slammed Lee's head down again. "_Maybe **I'll** like the sounds **you** make_."

He wrenched the man's head up again, with every intention of smashing it against the road until it split – and maybe not stopping even then – except…

"_Rick_."

He froze, fingers still gouging into Lee's scalp, halfway to slamming it down again.

"_Rick_."

He turned to Thomas, who was currently being fitted to a back board as one of the EMT's pressed sterile dressing against the entry wound, despite him trying to flinch away from contact.

Thomas was barely conscious. If Rick hadn't seen the hell that man could go through, he would've been surprised. He could tell that the medics were – though impressed was probably the wrong word for it. Thomas's hands automatically went to the oxygen mask, pulling stubbornly at it the second they replaced it, rolling his upper body as soon as they let go of him as they kept trying to hold his hands down while they strapped him in.

Rick dropped Lee without a second thought, reaching for Magnum's clumsily flailing hand as it reached for the mask again.

"Leave it," he ordered, gently placing Thomas's hand back at his side.

Magnum's fingers gripped Rick's sleeve, twisting in the fabric. The mask fogged slightly as he tried to speak, but whatever it was, was lost in the chaos.

He tried not think how unnervingly familiar all of this was.

At least they weren't being loaded into a helicopter.

Rick suddenly found himself gripping Thomas's hand, the sudden sensation of dread that this would be the last time he'd see Thomas alive so forceful he felt himself stumble.

Maybe that was just because the EMT's finally lifted him from the ground. At least, that's what he told himself.

A hand on his shoulder had him flinching, jerking violently at the slight touch.

Katsumoto held his hands back, palms out in 'surrender' pose, and it was only then that Rick realized he'd been trying to talk to him for the past several moments.

"Should I call your friend?" Katsumoto asked. Judging from the slight sigh at the end of the question, Rick guessed he must have asked it more than once.

"Yeah. Sure. Probably."

The detective raised an eyebrow, then glanced back at the unconscious gunman. "Normally, the precinct would be your next stop, but –"

"I think I'm in shock. I need medical attention," Rick recited hollowly. That was what his uncle taught him to tell the police – or anyone else, for that matter – if things ever went sideways. Something close to it anyway.

Katsumoto's lips twitched in what might've been a knowing smirk, but who could tell? "I'll take care of it."

Rick wasn't even sure what 'it' was, but he didn't care.

Huh. Maybe it _was_ shock.

Or maybe just relief.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He let the EMT's load Thomas into the back of the waiting ambulance, his hand still gripping tightly against cold fingers.

Cold fingers that held onto his just as tightly.

* * *

So, I admit, the ending feels rushed to me, but that could also be the insomnia talking. I did *try* and write it like Rick was going slowly into shock - I know it kinda creeps up on me and I can go from "this is fine" to "how did I get here?" real quick. Also, I am a sucker for BroTP codependency. Anyway. Let me know what you think! Drop me a line here, or come say hi over on Tumblr disappearinginq!


	4. Chapter 4

It probably doesn't exactly fit Big Brother Instinct, but it's going there anyway because that discussion was how I came up with this idea. Which I started in February. Ugh. This took FOREVER, and I'm still not sure about the ending, but a lot of the hinted at things come into play in Wrong Side, so they're kinda vague on purpose. The ending is also very different from what it originally was, so SURPRISE, PLOT TWIST! Anyway. Ahem. Onwards!

* * *

Juliet didn't regret a lot of things in life. Not her service in MI6, not taking up Masters on his job offer as a majordomo, or meeting Richard. And lately, she didn't even mind Magnum and the shenanigans he dragged her into. Not that she'd ever say it out loud, but it was…_nice_, getting out of the compound and doing something that was more meaningful than running facial recognition on the UPS delivery driver.

She was, however, having serious doubts about taking up Magnum's invite to come surfing at Sandy Beach Park.

"Come _on_, Higgy!" Magnum had protested, putting on his best smile as he grabbed his board from the boat house. "It'll be fun!"

She'd tried to gracefully bow out of it. "I'm paid to watch the estate, and it's a little hard to do when not actually here."

Magnum glanced down at the two Dobermans. "What the hell are they for if they can't watch the house without you?"

As if sensing Magnum was complaining about them, Apollo growled, pinning his ears. Magnum responded by sticking his tongue out.

"Stop antagonizing them, and they'll stop growling at you," she reprimanded, continuing on before he could protest about it not being his fault. "And besides, the lads are fine on their own, but it's still working hours, and I'm not paid to go to the beach."

Thomas raised an eyebrow at that. "By that logic, you shouldn't leave the property, _ever_, and you do it plenty when you're helping me with a client."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" she asked archly.

He frowned, like he wasn't entirely sure what else it could be. "Well…yeah. I mean, if you really don't want to come chase down bad guys or investigate cases, then fine. I'll stop asking. But you seem to have fun when you do, so I keep inviting you."

She felt herself blush. She really didn't _mean_ to be so standoffish with him, it was just…self-defense on her part. She was a spy – ex, or not, it meant she had trust issues. There were no such thing as genuinely _good_ people in her line of work, and after Richard, she just…couldn't stand the idea of losing someone she cared about again. Even as a friend. So it just seemed easier to not have any.

Robin accused her of being a recluse, and she hadn't argued, because she couldn't. And in her less than charitable moods, she wondered if part of the reason Robin invited Magnum to stay in the guest house was because he full well knew that Magnum would suck her into his orbit and force her to get out of the house.

"Look, if you really don't want to come, then that's fine," Thomas said. He pulled his board down from the top shelf. "You don't have to. But just remember – you're an employee, not a prisoner. You're entitled to have some fun every once in a while."

He'd left then, heading to the front gate where Rick and TC were supposed to be coming to pick him up – the Ferrari wasn't exactly built for strapping down surf boards before heading out to the beach. The estate had a decent swimming beach, but given the sheltered cove, the waves were minimum at best. Not even good for body surfing, unless there was a storm moving in.

She'd eyed the other boards on the rack. There was at least a half dozen more. They hadn't been taken out or used the entire time she'd been majordomo at the Nest.

Something in the way that Thomas said 'not a prisoner' made her finally give in. She didn't delve into the psychology of it at the moment – she was too busy grabbing a board of her own and catching up to Magnum to see if he would wait for her to change to dwell on it.

There was just something…off…about it.

It hardly mattered. By the time they'd arrived at the beach, she'd completely forgotten about it.

Because somehow, she hadn't really thought this through.

She'd never been surfing. Never had the desire. She liked snorkeling and diving and shell collecting. She watched a surf competition once since she moved here, and after seeing three competitors eliminated for near drowning, breaking boards and bones, she decided Americans (and Australians) were crazy, and she wanted no part of it.

But at the same time, it was nice to be included in something that didn't involve bullets, breaking and entering, high speed chases, and, inevitably, the police.

She'd made her peace with the fact that she was just going to enjoy the beach. She didn't have to surf, right? She could just sit and watch from the board and not try to bludgeon her own skull in trying to catch an adrenaline rush.

She made it midway out – just past the close-to-shore breakers, but not nearly far enough out she would bother the more experienced surfers, and from here, she could see where the waves were breaking and easily avoid them. Observation was a part of learning, right? She could just treat this like another mission. Yeah. That's what she would do. Observe.

It _was_ fun to watch though.

Magnum was never the type to take anything too seriously, and while other surfers at least tried to ride the waves, he was all over the place – half the time he didn't bother to stand, or…surf, really. At least, not what she called surfing. While everyone else made a concentrated effort to stay on their boards, Magnum seemed to be having way more fun falling off. His grin was wide enough she could see it even from where she was floating, and while she couldn't hear him over the waves, she could tell he was having a _fantastic_ time.

Rick had a balance and ease with his board, she felt a pang of jealousy. While not reckless like Magnum, he could shoot through the waves with envious precision. She had a vague memory of him mentioning having spent time in Hawaii before he'd ever joined the military, and she could easily picture the man as a teen on the beach with a girl on each arm.

She was so preoccupied watching those two, and the dozen or so other surfers out enjoying the gorgeous weather and waves, that she didn't notice someone come up beside her until he spoke.

"So…" TC said conversationally, "you come out all this way to hang out by yourself in No Man's Land?"

She would deny the startled scream until her dying day.

It was made slightly better by the fact that TC was _not_ expecting her reaction and jumped enough that he wound up flipping his board and himself.

After apologizing profusely, turning ninety shades of red after he came back up sputtering and looking indignant, she couldn't help but laugh.

It was something just so _normal_. She'd forgotten what that was really like.

"I'm sorry, TC, I didn't mean…" she smothered a snicker behind a hand when he shot her a teasing glare as he made a show of uselessly ringing out his rash guard.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure you are. You always wound this tight?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I like to think not, but…"

TC smirked. "Uh huh. So lemme ask you a question, Juliet Higgins. Why'd you let Thomas drag you out here if you've never been on a board before?"

She ducked her head, wincing as she looked back up at him. "Is it that obvious?"

TC chuckled. "Only 'cause it's you. If you had any idea what you were doing, you'd be out there snaking and shredding waves. So. What's the deal?"

It was moderately aggravating how often these three men could knock her off balance. She was so used to dealing with subversive facts and lies of omission that their candidness made her trip over her prepared responses. But familiar as she was with trading lies for lies, she couldn't do it face to face with honesty.

As she floundered for a response, TC took pity on her.

"Lemme guess. You got bored with being cooped up at that fortress of Robin's that you agreed to the first non-case related thing Thomas invited you to without really thinking things through?" he guessed.

"Something like that," she admitted. "I've never surfed. Never had the desire. And then, whenever I considered it…"

TC hummed in agreement. "Yeah. When Orville brought it up the first time, the first thing I did was look it up on YouTube. And then I decided that man was crazy, and clearly trying to kill me. Took him about…oh, I dunno…three hours before he turned to blackmail to get me in the water. But here I am today."

She smiled at that.

"You know, you could ask Rick to teach you."

Juliet snorted. "No, thank you. I'll…just watch for now. I don't quite feel like making myself look the fool today."

A loud shout from the waves turned both their heads as Magnum rocketed through barrel of one of the larger waves, form perfect as he crouched low over the board, balancing with his hand trailing through face as the wave curled behind him, only to purposely zag sideways, spinning wildly in a hard right turn, throwing himself off the board in a dive.

TC just shook his head. "Don't seem to bother him any," he said, nodding towards where Magnum disappeared beneath the waves, his board tumbling through the white water as it crashed. "He knows damn well how to surf. He's just having fun now. I am in fact 99% positive he's a fish."

"Only 99?"

"Waiting on DNA results."

Juliet laughed out loud at that one.

She was enjoying herself enough she actually almost missed Rick paddling by until he swerved mid stroke to swing in beside TC.

"So…" he drawled. "How's it going?"

"Higgy doesn't know how to surf," TC explained before she could stop him. When he caught the death glare she was giving him, he shrugged unapologetically. "You act like we don't know you, Higgy-baby. Like I said – if you had any idea what you were doing, you'd be showing it off by now."

Higgins tried not to flush bright red at the insinuation that she was a show off. She _liked_ being good at things. She was so used to people dismissing her off the bat that she felt like she _had_ to show them what she could do. Did it really come off as showboating?

"You wanna learn?" Rick asked. "You do yoga every morning, so balancing isn't going to be that much of an issue." He paused, frowning. "Unless you have zero sense of rhythm, then you're gonna spend most of the day trying not to drown. But we can start on the smaller waves if you want, just to get you standing."

"I'm not sure it's worth your time, Rick," she tried. "Aside from snorkeling, aquatics aren't really my area of expertise."

Rick and TC exchanged looks before looking back to her in unison. It was actually a little unnerving watching them have a silent conversation like that.

"So what you're saying is, if you're not automatically good at something, it's not worth doing?" asked TC.

"No…"

"Or do you seriously have that much of a hang up about learning in front of others? You think anyone cares?" Rick gestured to the small crowd out on the waves.

Sure, there were the ones out by the much larger waves, who clearly knew what they were doing, but they seemed to wipe out just as often as the ones on the smaller breaks nearer to shore. They were smiling, laughing…

Enjoying themselves.

"Having fun isn't fatal," Rick pointed out.

"Fun, no. Riding a bit of foam and plastic with nothing between you and a concussion except God's grace is another matter entirely," she pointed out.

Rick pushed himself up into a sitting position, straddling his board and easily balancing in the current. "Eh," he shrugged. "Took me six months to learn to surf well enough I was confident enough to try the pipeline, and I was a teenager who lived on the beach with nothing else to do except practice."

"I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this," Higgins groused.

"And I can't believe you've lived in Hawaii for three and a half years and never been surfing," Rick countered. "Today is full of surprises. Now, are you going to make an effort, or are you going to chicken out and go tanning with Kumu instead?"

Damn the man if he didn't know exactly what button to push to convince her to at least try.

"Fine," she agreed.

Rick smirked. "Wow. The wild enthusiasm there was a little stunning. Might want to tone it down a bit. Come on. We'll practice in the smaller waves."

An hour later, and sorer than she would've thought possible from trying to balance on a piece of plastic covered foam on waves preteens on boogie boards were having considerably better luck on, Juliet admitted temporary defeat and decided Kumu had the right idea: carbs, sunscreen, a good book and a beach towel on the warm sand.

She'd waved the guys off, emphasizing the _temporary_ part of her acquiescence. They'd come to surf, not babysit, and she'd managed to at least finish on a high note, and that was good enough for her. No broken bones, no sand burn from wiping out in the shallows, and she even managed to ride one wave all the way into the beach.

Juliet found herself strangely – and pleasantly – surprised that the raucous cheering from both TC, Rick and the other practice surfers felt genuine.

And best of all, no one noticed just how poor a swimmer she actually was. She made a mental note to try swimming somewhere besides the protected cove at the Nest to improve herself before settling down on the sand beside Kumu's chair.

"Oh look," Kumu said, peering over her sunglasses with a smirk. "You _aren't_ allergic to fun."

Juliet allowed herself a small smile before taking Kumu's offered paperback – which was, of course, the second in the White Knight series, looking well worn and loved.

"Today is full of surprises," she agreed.

* * *

"She seemed to improve," Thomas commented as Rick and TC made their way back out to the lineup. The waves were getting bigger, but not dangerously so. Not as long as they avoided straying too far to the left of the beach where the volcanic rocks jutted up out of the sea, creating white wash and swirling eddies as the tide came in.

At least a dozen or so other surfers were out with them, waiting their turn for the next break.

"Well, when you start at rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up," Rick said. "But she was at least more agreeable that TC here when I started teaching him." He clapped his friend enthusiastically on the back with a wet _smack_. "_Buddy_."

"You were decidedly less nice about teaching me, _pal_," TC retorted with his own overly-'affectionate' clap that made Rick wince.

"You're right," Rick agreed. "Very unprofessional of me to resort to blackmail. _E kala mai iaʻu_. Forgive me?" He held up his hand for their familial high-five, innocently batting his eyes.

As soon as TC reached for him, Thomas could tell the exact moment TC realized his mistake. Too late. Rick grabbed him by wrist at the same time as he kicked the near side of TC's board, flipping the larger man ass over teakettle into the water.

"And on that note, I see my wave – catch me if you can, old man!" Rick crowed, paddling off as soon as TC's head cleared the surface, sputtering indignantly and glaring daggers at his retreating back.

"Yeah, you better run, _Orville_!"

Magnum couldn't help but laugh, even as he held TC's board for him to easily slide back on. "Oh yeah. That was menacing. I'm sure he's just quaking in his board shorts."

"Shut it, TM." TC jabbed a pointed finger at him. "Ya'll yahoos are gonna turn me gray faster than you made Nuzo bald."

Thomas sniggered. "You'd be distinguished…" he trailed off, watching Rick shoot for the upcoming swell. It would be a beauty – big enough he would be able to ride it into the shallows if he managed to catch it, and Magnum had yet to see him miss.

Except Rick wasn't the only one aiming for it.

A man, probably in his upper forties who should've known better than to jump the line and snake a wave like that, was paddling just as hard for the wave, ignoring or oblivious to Rick several yards behind him.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and Thomas was moving before he even had time to process what he knew – that Rick wasn't going to see the other surfer until it was too late, that the man was going to crumble the wave and Rick was going to wipeout much too close to the edge and go down in the soup and into the rocks and reef.

* * *

Rick didn't even see the other surfer until the man stood on his board, appearing out of nowhere as far as Rick was concerned, too far out on the crest to be able to ride it well but close enough to ruin it for him.

"Hey, hey, _hey!_" Rick shouted, "I got it, I'm on it!"

The guy either didn't hear, didn't care, or didn't know how to kick out, because he kept going.

"_Move!_" Rick shouted, cutting sharply to avoid ramming into the man. He managed to keep his balance, throwing his left hand high and his right down low to balance, as his legs bent and pushing the board forwards.

He might've made it, if the guy had any idea what he was doing and got out of the way, but he didn't. Instead of swerving or kicking out over the back of the crest, he lurched sideways, crumbling the wave in front of Rick and snaking the wave out from underneath him.

Rick toppled backwards into the surf, his board flipping up over his head as he went down, _hard_, into the swell of the wave.

* * *

White wash was always disorienting. Up from down was impossible in the best of circumstances, and the waves were relentless, toppling anyone and anything ass over teakettle in whatever direction it could.

There was a reason why one avoided the rocks.

Rick opened his eyes against the stinging salt, looking for the bright of the sun to aim for but also immediately trying to aim _away_ from where he knew he'd gone down. Current went in every direction, eddying around the shallows of ocean floor, the rocks and the incoming tide, spinning him about without time to even figure out up from down.

Time seemed to move really fast and yet really slow – he could feel the churn of the water, the pull of his tether on his ankle yanking him along with the board caught on the top of the wave as he went up and over in the barrel of the crashing wave – the white obscuring everything as he crashed into the rocks.

His chest slammed into one of the sharp volcanic rocks with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and reflexively suck in another breath.

Except he was still underwater.

And now he was actively drowning.

Reflex and instinct made him cough and choke to spit up the water except there was no air to replace it and the salt water burned like acid down his throat and into his lungs, panic kicking survival instinct into high gear and rationale to the curb. He lost track of the surface versus the floor, flailing in the churning surf until something caught his ankle, catching him in the barrel of another wave as the crest came down on him, slamming his head into the rocks.

* * *

Thomas abandoned his board, ripping the tether from his ankle as dove in – the last thing he needed was a buoy preventing him from diving attached to him.

The white water made it almost impossible to see.

Almost.

The water was clearer here in Hawaii than anything off the coast of Coronado or anywhere else he'd been diving. Even with the sting of salt in his eyes and the dark rashguard Rick had blending with the rocks, it was easy enough for him to pick his friend out of the soup.

The blood in the water helped.

So did the fact that he wasn't being taken with the current – Magnum saw the tether line caught on a jagged outcropping still tied to Rick's ankle. The board was gone or broken but the rope held fast, keeping Rick from reaching the surface, but at the same time, kept him in place for the incoming surf to basically body slam him into the rocks.

Swimming in the swirling eddies was probably suicidal by most standards. If Thomas stopped to think, he might've agreed.

It still wouldn't have stopped him.

He grabbed onto Rick's lifeless – _don't think that- _body, wrapping himself around his friend's torso and taking the brunt of the next wave, reaching for the diving knife he kept strapped to his leg any time he was in the water.

Thank god for old habits.

The knife sliced easily through rope, and suddenly they were tumbling free, the crest of the wave lifting them over the sharp volcanic rocks, even as they tumbled through the surf and across the rocks, the sharp edges and angles slicing through his rashguard and skin. It was like being caught in a never ending motorcycle crash and for a moment, the only thing Magnum could think of was the chopper crash in Afghanistan.

Now was not the time.

Small nicks and cuts were the least of his concerns, and he braced with his bare feet against the reef, bending his knees and craning his head back and over until he was curved almost in a perfect 'c', Rick still clutched in his arms as he moved with the wave instead of against it, angling sideways to bring them away from the reef edge.

His foot slipped, slicing open on the edge of the reef, careening them sideways instead of the angle he was hoping for, but they were cleared enough to make it out of the maelstrom and into the open water.

Thomas's head finally broke the surface and he sucked in a much needed breath. He hadn't been down for long – less than a minute – but it seemed like ages, and it was even longer for Rick, who still wasn't conscious. Thomas clutched him to his chest as he turned his back to the shore, keeping Rick's head above water, tilted back against his shoulder as he swam sideways towards the beach.

There was yelling. It may have been directed towards him, but he wasn't listening. At least not to them.

He was listening for any sign of life from his friend.

His feet hit the sand and he managed to half stand, half stumble onto the sand, coughing and choking even as he pressed two fingers to the side of Rick's neck with almost bruising force.

Thready and thin, but still there. The gash across side of his head bled freely down the side of his face, the salt water mixing with the blood like a deranged water color painting, and the numerous tiny cuts started to bleed, too, and the skin around his head wound was already turning an angry red and purple bruise.

But Rick wasn't breathing.

"Don't you _fucking dare_," Magnum snarled, immediately straddling Rick's chest – he could hear Rick's voice in his head mocking '_people will talk_' – and starting chest compressions.

_Fuck. What were the rules for CPR now_? _Was he still supposed to breathe for him? Or was that taking away from the circulation of blood and oxygen to the brain? Was it different for drowning_?

Facts blurred along with his vision.

Sensory perception in shock was a bizarre thing. He could hear people. People he was sure he recognized but couldn't name, the rush of the surf that still pulled at his feet and dragged the sand out from underneath them as it washed back out to sea, the pounding of blood in his own ears and his own ragged breathing.

All that noise and he couldn't hear the one thing he wanted.

Rick.

"God_dammit_, Rick, **_LIVE_**!" In a moment of pure spite and rage against the cosmos, he slammed his fist into Rick's chest hard enough he heard a crack and suddenly Rick was jackknifing upwards, hacking and sputtering and choking, salt water and blood mixing together as Thomas grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and pulled him sideways to vomit up any water still in his lungs.

After a minute, Rick collapsed back onto the beach, groaning as he touched a shaky hand to the sizeable gash across his head. "_Ow_. Why does everything hurt? And why does my mouth taste like margarita Monday and the Sahara?"

He was alive. He was alive, _alive_, **_alive_**.

And yet…

And _yet…_

His fingers dug into material of Rick's rash guard, trying to force himself to _focus_, to anchor himself here and now on the sand, trying not to stare at the swirl of red and sea water in the eddy of the encroaching tide washing out around them and the sun no longer felt warm on his back as the chill of the cave pressed in around them.

Thomas shook his head.

_Hawaii_. Not Afghanistan. The ocean and a freak accident, not the purposeful slow drowning of water boarding. Rash guard, not BDU undershirt.

It was 2019. Not 2017.

They were fine. _They were fine_. **_Fine_**.

He didn't even realize he wasn't breathing right until someone grabbed his wrist, and he tried to yank it free but the hand followed easily.

"Hey, whoa there buddy…"

He bit his lower lip with enough force he tasted copper and iron mixed with the salt of the seawater still dripping down his face.

The grip on his wrist tightened to bruising force and he blinked, trying to focus on the fingers.

"Five things."

Thomas's attention snapped back to Rick, who was now looking at him with a mix of concern and _knowing_.

"You're turning blue, Thomas. Take a breath. Five things."

The inhale was sharp and stuttered, hardly enough to really count but he managed to blurt out: "The beach. The water. Black. Red. Hands."

Rick nodded, wincing slightly. "Good. Four."

Thomas dug his fingers into the sand beneath them. "The sand. The sun. The wind." He felt something slowly start to uncoil from around his throat and for the first time in what felt like hours, he took a real breath. "You."

"Three," Rick prodded, his grip still bruisingly tight on Magnum's wrist.

Thomas took another shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Auditory was always the sense he tripped over the most. "Gulls. The surf. People yelling."

Rick smirked, and let his head drop bag against the beach, closing his eyes against the sun, humming in agreement. "I think that's TC's brand of worry. Two."

"Someone's grill. Salt. Though that might just be water up my nose."

"Still counts. One."

Thomas ran his tongue along the inside of his lip. "Blood."

Rick cracked an eye open. "Not what I was hoping for, but you look about as bad as I feel so I'll let it slide. You okay?"

Thomas touched a finger to the spreading bruise on Rick's forehead, gently prodding at the deepening purple and blue, but he didn't feel the give of broken bone. And Rick was awake, and lucid – which was more than he could say for himself - which was a good sign.

"We should take you to the hospital," he said, purposely ignoring the question. "Make sure your brain isn't any more scrambled than it was."

Rick grumbled under his breath. "I don't need an MRI to tell you that it is. But if it's all the same to you, any time you want to get off me would be great 'cause I think you broke something with your oh-so-tender loving care."

Most of Thomas's weight was on his knees on either side of Rick, but he pushed himself to his feet anyway, offering a hand to his friend. "You need a hand?"

Rick sighed. "I'm collecting my thoughts. Debating if here is as good a place as any to die. The world is already spinning, and I don't want to puke on a public beach. Just give me a Viking funeral." Despite his protests, he held out both hands to Thomas.

As soon as he was upright though, he promptly turned his head to the side and dry heaved into the sand, one hand going to his ribs as the muscle contractions pulled painfully on the cracked ribs. "So glad we waited on lunch," he gasped in between spasms. "Or this would _really_ suck."

Thomas couldn't help the snicker. Gallows humor was Rick's 'process'.

They'd wound up on the wrong side of the rocks. Thomas hadn't paid any attention to where he was going when he pulled Rick free of the board tether, just aiming for shore by any route necessary, which as far as he was concerned, worked in his favor. TC and Higgins were just now clambering over the sharp volcanic rocks that separated the swimming beach from the deadly reef and outcroppings.

Which meant no one saw how close a call it was.

After years of therapy, Thomas wasn't exactly _ashamed_ of panic attacks – not when in hindsight he could tell himself it was understandable for anyone to have issues in the same situation, but that didn't mean he liked it advertised.

Especially not to Higgins.

The majordomo was starting to loosen up, but she still tended to nitpick and rail on anything she considered a fault of his, and sometimes…he really just didn't want to give her another reason for thinking he was worthless.

"Can we down play this one?" Rick asked quietly. "Maybe just tell them about the concussion, and not the almost dying part?"

The look on TC's face was all Thomas needed to agree. TC took 'mother hen' to a whole new level, but he was also the first to yell about foolish and reckless behavior – whether it was an accident or not – which was just how _he_ dealt with stress. But sometimes it just came off like he was berating one of his kids for a stupid and avoidable incident.

"Sure," Thomas agreed.

What was one more secret between them?

* * *

Notes: Ta da! As always, I love to hear what you think, feel free to leave a review, a kudos, a short biography and how this affected your life, or come talk to me on Tumblr disappearinginq! I promise I don't bite! (and you can always send a prompt for Bad Things Happen Bingo!)


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Almost entirely a spite fic because season 2 has irritated me so much. I miss Rick and TC and Thomas doing things together, instead of basically TC and Rick having their own spinoff within a series and almost never interacting with their supposed best friend. I hate that the utterly awful relationship between Higgins and Thomas has become front and center in the series, and I _loathe_ that Higgins is being made into another Felicity Smoak who is a horrible, toxic human being who we're supposed to accept as a love interest. Part of the reason why I hate her so much is because her dialogue with Thomas is very much what my brother in law sounds like talking to my sister, and she's in tears by the end of most days with severe stress reactions that are slowly killing her - so no. I don't see the 'cute, badass Higgins', I see someone I would very much like to slap the shit out of. So if you're a fan of Higgins - avoid this chapter. I've officially given up pretenses of trying to make excuses for her terrible character.

* * *

Magnum didn't even have time to duck. He was already turning towards the suspect when Higgins shouted a warning, which came two seconds too late and he caught the full swing of the shovel to the side of his face with an audible crack, rocking his head back so fast he saw stars.

Thomas staggered backwards, his hand immediately going to his face as he felt blood well up on his tongue where his teeth sliced into his cheek.

He knew it was broken even before his vision cleared. _Knew_ it. He felt the bone shift under his fingers as he kept his hand in place, shock more than anything keeping him from trying to speak. Shock was weird. Rationally, Thomas _knew_ it hurt like hell. Could taste copper on his tongue and tried not to gag as he accidentally swallowed some of it rather than open his mouth or even _attempt_ to move it.

It just felt…numb. Like a shot of Novocain from the dentist. A numbness that radiated from the corner of his jaw all the way across the side of his face. Experience told him it was temporary – as soon as his brain caught up, it was going to _hurt like **hell**_.

It took him a moment to even realize that Higgins was trying to talk to him, and he had to forcefully make himself try and decipher what she was asking him.

"-maybe next time duck?" she suggested archly, raising an eyebrow in disdain.

_Duck_? When he was standing five feet away from a suspect he wasn't even arresting who was supposed to be under the control of two uniformed police officers? Who, up until he got ahold of a landscaping shovel, had been entirely compliant with the police commands and expressed no signs of aggression?

When he'd only turned around because she'd made a snide remark about being dragged out on another case he hadn't actually invited her on?

"Let me see," she ordered, and reached for his hand that was currently holding his jaw in place.

He slapped her hand away with his free one, glowering at her. He hadn't forgotten how easily she dismissed three broken ribs and getting nailed by a sedan hard enough to break the windshield. The last thing he felt like listening to was another lecture about how he needed to 'man up' despite breaking bones getting hit by gardening materials. Or comments about welcoming the peace and quiet she was sure to have if he couldn't talk.

Higgins recoiled, frowning, and for a moment, he thought she was going to realize it wasn't just bruising, which he honestly wasn't sure he knew what to do with. She'd never expressed concern before, and honestly, he wasn't that great at taking it unless it was from his family. But just as quickly, the moment was gone, replaced by familiar contempt he still wasn't sure what he did to incur.

"Fine. Honestly, you would think you were made of glass," she grumbled. The look she shot him was of utter disdain – the same one she had when she accused him of 'man-splaining' having a positive outlook doing door to doors, or when she thought he wasn't suitably embarrassed at being hired to find children's pets.

Katsumoto hardly even glanced in his direction except to see he was still standing. "Maybe think about staying out of it next time, huh?"

_Really_? He thought. He didn't even realize he was in the middle of an HPD investigation until Katsumoto showed up to tackle his suspect at the Home Depot gardening center.

"What, no snappy comeback?" Higgins jibed. Thomas could tell she was waiting for him to do or say something, rather than just hold his hand against his mouth, pantomiming 'speak no evil', and for a split second, there was that flash of real concern – the same as when he was in the hospital after being hit by a car – and then….

"If you're going to be a truculent child, you can sit over by the car. I'll see what he knows about our client."

Essentially, go to Time Out. Fine. Thomas made a mental note to ask Robin again how and why he knew Higgins well enough to have her employed as an estate manager, because it better be a corker of a story.

He offered a rude gesture as soon as the majordomo's back was turned, and one of the uni's snickered as they lead the now _much_ more restrained suspect away to the squad car.

His mouth was beginning to throb. In a terrible catch 22. It hurt to touch, but he didn't want to move his hand holding it relatively in place, because the pull of gravity was going to be worse. He knew it was starting to swell, and he wondered if – hoped – it was _just_ the bone that broke. Bones could heal. Teeth, on the other hand…

As he considered walking back to the Ferrari, it suddenly occurred to him he was stuck.

Last he knew, 911 didn't take texts, and he couldn't drive with just one hand. He was either going to have to wait for Higgins and Katsumoto to be done – which could be minutes or hours, depending on how the investigation went, and despite her prickly attitude towards him, he knew she would at least do right by his client. One of them had to – and it wasn't going to be him. Possibly one of the uniforms could take him, but given how much of a stickler Katsumoto was for rules and regs, he doubted they would be any more willing to help him, and he didn't _really_ want to try and get through to them what he needed.

Not like he had a pen and paper handy to communicate, and he hated texting because he was awful at it. God only knew what autocorrect was going to come up with.

A memory of a less than friendly hand on a dislocated jaw, forcibly snapping it back into place flashed through his mind.

Nope. Not happening.

Option two, then.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a short text to Rick. It was Thursday, so TC was at football practice. Even if he wanted to come, it would mean he'd have to cut practice short, call all the parents to come get their kids unexpectedly early, wait for them to be picked up and _then_ come get him.

Rick, on the other hand, would be busy stocking the bar for Thirsty Thursday for Fleet Week, and had enough employees to cover him long enough for Rick to come pick him up.

Almost immediately, Rick responded. _Good timing. The real work was about to start. Be there in a few_.

Thomas fought the urge to smirk, because god knew how much that was gonna hurt. He considered for a moment the best place to wait. The Ferrari was a first instinct, but it wasn't exactly in the shade, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally get blood all over the Italian leather interior and give Higgins one more grievance to file against him.

He put his back to the squad car and allowed himself to slide to the ground and into the minimal shade offered by the car. The King Kamehameha wasn't too far. Rick should be here before someone had to move the vehicle. He'd be fine. Just had to think of something besides the growing _throb_ that was now shooting from his jaw up past his eye.

He really, _really_ wished he had an ice pack though.

* * *

The text was a little weird. Come pick up Thomas at the nearby Home Depot because he needed a ride. Knowing Thomas, that could mean any one of a hundred things. He'd wrecked the Ferrari. The Ferrari had been repo'd again. He somehow got separated from the vehicle and needed a ride back to it. He had to separate from Higgins for a case, and was letting her take the car, and now needed another ride. Ferrari broke down. Any one of a hundred different benign reasons that shouldn't mean anything too serious.

Except Thomas didn't like to text. He claimed it took too long, and he would rather just talk to someone than send a message, and texts could be from anyone who had the phone. He didn't know if it went through, or if it was ignored, or someone didn't hear it, et cetera. Rick wasn't sure why Thomas always felt the need to justify little things like that, but he let it slide.

Stranger still, the text wasn't spelled out in whole sentence. Just a weird mish mash of autocorrect emojis and symbols with the address for the store, like Thomas was typing with only one hand. Badly.

And Thomas didn't answer the phone when Rick called him to let him know he was in the parking lot, where should he meet him? Which sent already hinky feelings spiraling towards flat out _dread_.

There were at least three squad cars outside the garden center, and Katsumoto's inconspicuous Chevy along with them. Rick winced. The detective wasn't his least favorite person, but generally, he and Thomas got along about as well as water and oil. Especially if they were working opposite ends of a case, which seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

Whatever they were doing, the cops looked busy searching for something. Or possibly someone? Except they already had at least one person sitting in the back of a squad car, who didn't appear very happy.

Rick searched the faces of the HPD and crime scene investigators, spotting Higgins and Katsumoto off to one side conferring with another detective he didn't recognize. He expected Thomas to be close by – that man was always in the thick of it, whether he tried to be or not. He was a cosmic mess like that.

But he wasn't.

In fact, it took almost a minute to find Magnum, and if it hadn't been for the garish red and white Hawaiian shirt he had on, he doubted he would've seen him at all.

The smaller man was sitting off to the side, completely away from the activity, back against the squad car tire and legs folded underneath him as he pressed both hands to his face, looking for all the world like a child stuck in the corner for misbehaving.

Which, knowing Higgins and Katsumoto, that might actually be what happened. He just never imagined Thomas would listen to either one of them.

"Hey, Thomas, I got your message, you wanna…" he trailed off, question forgotten before he could finish it.

Thomas looked up as soon as he heard Rick's voice, but he managed to do it without moving his face. Or his hands. And remained silent.

Everything about it was red flag. But Thomas didn't _look_ too bad. And if he'd been really hurt, Katsumoto or Higgins would've made sure he was seen by a doctor, or at the very least, sent him off with one of the uniformed officers to the ER. Hell, he'd seen Magnum get treated by the ME before, if he was really in a pinch.

Rick crouched down in front of him, hissing slightly when he saw the bruising on the side of Thomas's face. "You keep this up, and I'm going to be the pretty one," Rick joked lightly, gently brushing a wayward strand of hair out of Thomas's face. The bruising was bad. Dark purple already, swollen up to his temple and down beyond where his face was hidden behind his hands. Rick was honestly surprised his eye hadn't swelled shut, but there was a good chance it still would. "You get checked out by anyone?"

Thomas didn't move. His dark eyes flicked over to the far side of the crime scene where Katsumoto and Higgins were still talking but didn't give a word of explanation.

Rick frowned. Magnum wasn't the type to employ the silent treatment. Not unless he was _really_ injured. But despite the rapidly darkening purple blossoming across the side of his face, Rick couldn't tell what the hell was going on. No other scrapes or bruises or gunshot wounds or stabbings – he didn't even have bruised knuckles from a fight.

"Thomas," he prompted quietly. "What's going on?"

Magnum hunched forwards slightly, rolling his shoulders defensively.

Rick wasn't about to accept radio silence after being told to come and get his friend. He sat down on the grass opposite Thomas, close enough his knees were almost touching Magnum's, and raised his right hand. "If you can't talk, use this," he said, moving his hand in unison to the words.

It wasn't ASL, not really. It was a highly bastardized version that Rick and Magnum created in Afghanistan. Rick wasn't even sure if Thomas would remember those last few months well enough to remember their own private language, but at the time, it was the only way Rick could get him to communicate at all. After the…_incident_…with the gun, and Thomas took a knife to the side that needed cauterizing to stop bleeding, he'd gotten sick. _Really_ sick. And for the first time landing behind bars, unnervingly passive. He stopped talking. He stopped engaging. They couldn't tell if he was even aware of them, until Rick finally figured out a way for him to communicate if talking was too much. Hand gestures were easier for him to follow, and it let them 'talk' with no one else listening in.

It'd saved his life, _and_ Rick's, more than once since then.

Magnum watched his hands for a moment, expressive dark eyes following the movement before he cautiously moved his left hand away from his face. He stuck his index finger out, twisting his hand sideways towards himself.

"Hurts? What hurts? I mean, besides your face, because that hurts just looking at it."

Moving carefully, and still with only one hand, Thomas pinched all of his fingers together, tapping at the top of his jaw before drawing it down to his chin, which was still covered by his hand.

"Your jaw?" Rick echoed.

Thomas didn't even nod, keeping his face as still as possible. He didn't have to say anything, though. The look of abject misery was enough.

"If I pull you up, is that going to make you sick?"

Thomas carefully spelled out 'no' with his free hand. Then stopped, drawing a question mark in the air.

Rick shook his head. "Real convincing, buddy. Real convincing. On the count of three, I'm gonna get you up, okay?" He gripped Magnum's forearm. "Thumbs up for 'yes'."

Magnum had Rick's elbow in a death grip, which made Rick frown because _what the hell_, Thomas actually thought he was going to _need_ Rick to stand which made him think it was a concussion, but that didn't explain why when asked what hurt, Thomas said it was his mouth, not his head. Magnum briefly extended his thumb up to indicate 'go', and in one fluid movement, Rick pulled him to his feet.

Thomas stumbled slightly, his fingers tightening impossibly around Rick's elbow as his other hand reflexively pushed harder against his mouth with a muffled yelp.

Rick froze. Didn't dare move as Thomas's fingers started to shake, and he caught a suspicious brightness to his dark eyes before Thomas managed to duck his head away like he wanted to be sick but didn't dare.

This was more than just bruising.

"Thomas," Rick asked quietly. "How bad?"

Thomas's fingers drummed against Rick's arm, from pinkie to index finger. Four. Their scale only went to five.

What. The. _Hell_.

"Should I be calling an actual ambulance?"

Thomas spelled out a quick n-o.

So - painful, but not life threatening. Or, he didn't want to be left alone to be poked and prodded by strangers, because contrary to popular media, ambulance personnel really didn't want passengers that weren't patients riding in the back with them, unless situations were dire. And Thomas was up, mobile, not bleeding out…just…quiet.

"Here. Sit for a second." Rick slowly maneuvered his friend to sit on the hood of the car. "I would like to not have to feel like this needs to be said, but it's you. So, don't move. I'll be back in a second. I'm going to go let Katsumoto and Higgy know I'm taking you so they don't think you've wandered off."

Thomas didn't move his other hand, just gave a thumbs up, though he didn't look particularly happy about it. Whether from being told to 'sit and stay' or that Rick was basically going to tell the other adults that Thomas had to leave, Rick wasn't entirely sure. He _thought_ Thomas, Katsumoto and Higgins were on slightly better terms as of late, but…

It's not like Thomas would've said anything to the contrary. Go along to get along should be tattooed across his forehead.

"How about I just tell one of the unis?" Rick suggested. Katsumoto's people were pretty good about relaying messages, and Rick already knew half of them.

Thomas's dark eyes flitted towards one of the closest uniformed officers, and after a pregnant pause, shrugged one shoulder.

Translation: fine - but he wasn't happy about it.

Yeesh. Whatever the story was, it was a corker, and Rick fought the urge to ask what happened. At least, he could wait until after the trip to the ER. He ventured a guess to Thomas's reluctance to tell anyone, and suggested, "How about I just say I'm giving you a lift? Maybe leave the whole hospital thing out of it?"

The relief in those expressive eyes was almost tangible, and he held his free hand up in a clenched fist, bobbing it back and forth as if knocking on a door. _Yes_.

So he just didn't want anyone to know where he was going...which meant he didn't want anyone to know he was _hurt_. Memories of the cave flashed unbidden and unwanted through his mind's eye with enough force Rick fought the automatic flinch.

Thomas's hand tightened reassuringly on his forearm, drumming a quick beat of five with his fingertips, and Rick snorted.

"It's not a 5 problem. Gimme a minute, I'll be right back, okay? Don't move."

A quick thumbs up and he went to the nearest LEO, raising his chin slightly in a half nod of greeting as they caught sight of him approaching.

"Hey, just in case Katsumoto comes looking for him, I'm taking Thomas home, okay?"

The officer grimaced in sympathy as he nodded. "I wouldn't want to hang around after that, either. Tell him to ice it - 10 minutes on, 10 minutes off for the swelling. And aspirin. It should help the pain."

"So you saw what happened?"

The man winced. "Yeah. The suspect got away from the guys holding onto him and before they could grab him, he caught Magnum in the face with an edger - or maybe it was a shovel?" The man folded his arms across his chest as he considered it. "Naw, it was a shovel. I remember thinking it sounded like he'd literally rung Magnum's bell with it. I was _really_ surprised he didn't go down for it."

Thomas took a shovel to the face...and no one thought to call for EMT's to at least come check him out? They hadn't even called _him_ \- Thomas had to. And from what the guy just said, more than one person witnessed it and did nothing more than let Thomas wander off on his own.

"Did Noelani take a look at him?" he asked nonchalantly.

The officer shook his head. "I honestly didn't even know where he went off to, and there's no DB's, so she's not here. Higgins tried to take a look at him, but he just slapped her hand away and walked off."

Rick paused, considering. "Wait, what _exactly_ was she trying to do?"

The LEO half shrugged. "I think she was trying to move his hand. Nothing major. But, he, uh, didn't seem too appreciative of her efforts, so she told him to go sit out."

Red started to edge in on the corner of Rick's vision. "What's the protocol when someone is injured at a crime scene or criminal apprehension?"

"Call the emergency services," the man said without hesitation. "But –"

Rick held up a hand. "No, that answers my question. Next time the HPD needs intel on the crime syndicates in Honolulu, I'm going to tell you to get bent. Should the question come as to why I am going to just hang up on you every time you call, you can tell your supervisor it's all on him."

The LEO looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't entirely sure what – maybe he just didn't want to have to be the one to tell Katsumoto that his days of helping out the Organized Crime Unit were over, but Rick found it hard to care.

Not unlike a certain two someones who were supposed to be if not friends, at least not assholes to his best friend.

He left without further explanation, flexing his fingers from their tightly clenched fists at his side, ignoring the fact he'd pressed crescent shaped marks into each palm. He didn't hit anyone, and he didn't yell, so he was going to mark this as a _progress win_ when TC asked him about it later.

Thomas was already sitting in the Porsche, slouched down impossibly low so he could rest his head against the back of the seat without tilting his head. He only opened his eyes when the entire car shook with the force that Rick slammed the door with.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, and held up one hand, four fingers splayed out and his thumb towards his chin and wiggled his fingers back and forth. _Wanna talk about it?_

"No. And for future reference, your new friends suck."

Magnum frowned at that, but he took one quick glance at Rick's face and his entire expression softened. He tapped Rick's shoulder and held his index finger up. His hand still pressed against his mouth hiding most of his lower face, but Rick could still tell the man was smiling.

Well…as best he could.

Ever the diffuser, Thomas Magnum.

"Yeah, yeah. You're my favorite too." He put the Porsche in gear. "Remember this next time I need help with inventory."

* * *

Thomas was not a good patient. He wasn't even an _okay_ patient. He was a nightmare.

Most of the time.

Right now, he was so passive, Rick had to keep fighting the urge to check his pulse or his forehead with the back of his hand, because the last time Thomas was this quiet, he had malaria.

Because he was upright and moving and cognizant, he wasn't prioritized in the ER, which meant they got to hurry up and wait their turn. The initial nurse, a harried looking man who was profoundly apologetic for not being able to take Thomas back immediately, at least managed to get Thomas to move his fingers away from his cheek so he could see the extent of bruising.

"You probably already know this, but yeah, that's broken. You're gonna need x-rays to see how bad and whether or not you need surgery to fix it. Are you having trouble breathing? Do you feel the urge to throw up?"

Thomas signed the n-o again, and before Rick could interpret, the nurse breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. If that changes, get one of the staff immediately. Unfortunately, it also means you're gonna have to wait to see the doc. Can you move your hand?"

Again with the n-o.

"Because it hurts, or because you're holding it in place?"

Magnum held up two fingers.

"Second option," Rick clarified, even as he winced in sympathy for his friend.

"Can you move your fingers without moving your palm?"

Cautiously, Magnum bowed his fingers back except for his thumb, which was braced against the worst part of the bruising.

"Well, I can't the inside of your mouth from the outside, so that's a good sign. I can't confirm without the x-ray, but do you feel like your teeth are lining up? Don't move your mouth to find out, just best guess."

Magnum rolled one shoulder. He didn't know.

"All right. Sit tight, Mr. Magnum. Someone will be with you as soon as they can. Can you fill out your medical forms?"

Rick held up his clipboard, ninety percent of it already filled out – previous injuries taking up a back page in addition to the check list on the front. "Already on it."

The nurse heaved a sigh of relief. "I wish everyone was that well-prepared. If he starts to having breathing problems, or something gets drastically worse – swelling starts to spread, blood starts coming from places it shouldn't, he throws up, anything else that screams '_emergency we're gonna _die', get the desk nurse immediately."

With that, he was darting off again to the next patient on his list, and Rick and Thomas got to settle into a comfortable – albeit worrisome, as far as Rick was concerned – silence.

Sort of silent.

Rick kept up an endless running monologue of whatever he could think of. Mostly narrating what he thought was going on with anyone who came through the doors. One older pair of gentlemen with one pressing a blood soaked rag to his head while the other apologized – 'moving troubles' was their backstory; another was a dad and two teenage girls, one with a clearly broken arm and the other with two didn't need a backstory. The dad was complaining loudly enough about 'why would you think the _rock_ would move out of your way?!' that they didn't need explanation.

They'd only been waiting for about half an hour when two people entered that needed no introduction.

Katsumoto and Higgins.

And they looked less than pleased.

It wasn't until Magnum tensed beside him in the waiting room chair that it occurred to him that they weren't upset over Thomas being in the ER, and with one quick look at Thomas's face, he knew Thomas didn't think they were there for support, either.

He stood, carefully putting himself between him and Thomas, who remained sitting, pressing himself back into the chair like he wanted to just sink right through it.

"Hey, guys," he said lightly. "How's it going?"

"I can't _believe_ you left me stranded there!" Higgins erupted without preamble. "Not even a word of where you'd gone, just…up an vanished without so much as a by your leave!"

Rick had always been…wary…of positional authority. In the Marines, he learned real quick that the only way a higher up cared about what happened to you is if you had some solid blackmail material. Greene's kid in Kabul was only one in a long list of shady deals he made to stay out from under the thumb of another officer. When suicide rates skyrocketed to numbers not seen since WWII, their idea of fixing the problem was to just stop reporting it. Enlisted men with brain damage were authorized as fit for full and sent right back onto the range to die from enemy fire so the Marines wouldn't have to report it a failure to disclose. One medical officer even put a knife in front of a suicidal man and told him to prove he was _really_ suicidal, and when the man failed to take the knife on the spot, they armed him up again, sent him back out and…the Marine killed not only himself, but three others in his unit. The officers were bad, make no mistake. If Thomas and TC hadn't come along, his service probably would've ended with him in Leavenworth for fragging an officer. But it was the other _enlisted_ personnel that set his teeth on edge. The ones that were the same rank but put into positions of authority that thought it gave them the right to dictate everything their fellow Marines did, and write up demerits and disciplinary review boards for simple things like not making it to the line fast enough, for missing buttons because they'd been through hell the day before, or blood still caked their uniforms from fallen comrades and they hadn't had a chance to replace them because the uniform issue had been out for six weeks, or that their pant legs weren't properly tucked into blousing straps like the American military version of the SS or the Taliban's informers.

Higgins reminded him of those guys. No rank to speak of, but quick to complain about everything that mildly inconvenienced her. And it never really sat right with him that she harped on Thomas for everything when she lived in the main mansion rent free, same as Thomas, just because she personally didn't approve of his lifestyle. It's not like Robin and Thomas were strangers and the man didn't know full well what type of person Thomas was when he offered the guest house to him with free run of the place and all it entailed.

"Take a breath, Higgy," he said, forcing the same levity into his tone. "Wanna run that by me again? This time, perhaps taking into full account of where you're standing?"

Because he totally took Magnum to the ER for funsies on a Wednesday afternoon.

The implication seemed lost on her, because she didn't so much as bat an eye.

"You left, without telling us, and you took the keys to the Ferrari with you! A three hundred and fifty thousand dollar car being left in a Home Depot parking lot because _you_ couldn't be bothered to wait –"

"The better question is why _I had to take him in the first place_," Rick snapped, patience gone. "The officer we _did_ tell said not only were you standing right next to him, but other then tell him to go sit in the corner, you pretty much did nothing. _Thomas_ was the one who had to text me to come get him."

Higgins huffed, crossing her arms defensively over her chest as she rocked back on one heel. "It was bruising. He had worse when he was hit by the car."

"So you're a medical professional, huh?" Rick asked. "You can make a diagnosis on the fly like that?"

"I've seen my fair share of serious injuries," she said icily. The implication that this wasn't one of them had Rick crossing his arms to prevent him from doing something more…emphatic.

"Cool story. You wanna tell the _actual_ ER nurse he's wrong then?" Rick suggested, pointing to the same nurse who was taking a look a boy's face that was scraped to hell and back from road rash. "He's right over there. The one wearing the _actual_ scrubs. Working in an _actual_ hospital. With _actual_ training. 'Cause he took one look at Thomas and said it was broken but needed x-rays to determine how badly. But I guess he's an idiot too, huh? Because the mighty Juliet Higgins, ex-patriated and disavowed MI-6 agent, is never in the wrong, took a half-assed look at Thomas in the garden center and decided he was fine. That's why you're in exile as a goddamn housekeeper. Because you make no mistakes."

It had nothing to do with the actual argument. But Rick didn't much give two shits at this point. He never made it past an E-5 in the Marines because he was never willing to let stupid stand, regardless who the person dishing it out was. Private to four-star General, it didn't matter. It irked him how Higgins's behavior was closer to _jealousy_ than anything else – of what, damned if he knew. That people actually _liked_ Thomas? That she wasn't the only stray Robin let stay at the Nest?

Katsumoto on the other hand, looked impassive as always, which Rick sort of marveled at. How that man remained as stoic as a statue, he would love to know. He could use it to make a killing at the poker tables.

"The officer you spoke with failed to mention the severity of Magnum's injury," the detective said. "And while it didn't occur to me to call someone – you, or an ambulance – it should've, and I _am_ sorry about that. But Magnum also left a crime scene where he was assaulted, and I need to know if he wants to press charges against the suspect, especially if it's as serious as you think it is."

A hand at his elbow stopped Rick from giving a kneejerk response as he turned to look at Thomas, who was signing rapidly.

"No, no, _no_ – I'm not repeating that."

Thomas spelled it out more emphatically, before digging his hand into his pocket, fishing out the Ferrari keys and holding them out to Higgins.

"That doesn't look like any sign language _I_ know," Higgins muttered, snatching the keys as if she thought Thomas was going to pull a '_psych!'_ moment and pull them away. "Let me guess – he's sorry and will never do it again?"

Rick's head whipped back towards her so fast he was surprised he didn't get whip lash, but before he could say anything, Thomas's hand gripped his elbow. The younger man was looking faintly green and for a moment, Rick thought he'd gotten his attention because he was about to be sick.

Instead, Thomas made another gesture, a thumb drawn down from his chin followed by a half sign of his thumb and index finger pressed together, like the sign for 'ok', except the bouncing motion that was typically off his other hand. _Not worth it_.

"Jesus Christ, Thomas, no, this is bullshit, and I'm not – "

Thomas glared at him, his dark eyes saying more than any gesture, but he repeated the signs, this time more emphatically. **_Not worth it_**.

Rick huffed, but said nothing, plastering a fake smile on his face. "Is that it?"

"I take it you can't give a statement until you see the doctor?" Katsumoto guessed. The detective at least at the decency to look mildly sympathetic now that he could see the severe bruising darkening the entire side of Thomas's face.

Thomas spelled out a quick _n-o_, which Rick easily translated.

"Do you intend to press charges?"

Another no, which Rick fought the urge to argue with, even though it was unsurprising. Thomas didn't even hold a grudge against Hannah, now that she was dead. Of _course_ he wouldn't hold it against a stranger with a shovel. Rick, on the other hand, was far less magnanimous, hoped the guy was going down for something heinous and was looking down a sentence of 10 to 15 years in prison.

"In that case, I'll take Higgins back so she can pick up the car. If you change your mind…" Katsumoto eyed the bruising. "Send a text. Oh, and if it _is_ broken? Take some advice from personal experience -invest in a blender and some straws. And _lots_ of aspirin."

"Well, if his jaw _is_ broken, I suppose at least I can look forward to some peace and quiet at the Nest," Higgins said loftily, one elegant eyebrow raising slightly.

That was it. It wasn't perhaps the nicest thing for her to say, but that seemed part and parcel for Higgins and anything to do with Thomas – but it hit a little too close to still raw nerves, of memories of guards laughing at the peace and quiet they finally had when Thomas stopped talking – and something snapped.

"You're the worst kind of human being, you know that?" Rick snarled. "Thomas doesn't even bat an eye when you ask him for favors. He doesn't complain about you having a stick shoved up your ass about how he lives _in a completely different house than you_. You can bitch about him asking favors all you want, but you're a grown ass adult, and you can say _no_ if it really bothers you all that much, but _for the love of God_, just stop _complaining_ about everything he does or doesn't do. Or maybe next time you get shot and fall in the ocean miles from shore, Thomas can stay on the damn boat and enjoy some peace and quiet of his own."

The Brit bristled, and for a moment, Rick saw a brief flash of something that might've been guilt, but faster than it appeared, it was gone again, replaced by the all too familiar sense of pride and superiority.

"My job is to look after Mr. Masters' estate, and that includes and is not limited to the main house, the _guest _house, the property or the cars. If Magnum wants to play it fast and loose with a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar vehicle, that's his business, but making sure it is returned – unscathed and unharmed is _my_ business, which is very difficult to do when he takes off without warning with the keys in his pocket."

"The car? The _car_?! Do you know why Robin puts goddamn numbers on those fucking license plates? Because he has so. Many. Goddamn. Cars. But there's only one Thomas. _One_. And you care more about the goddamn car—about fucking metal and gears and fiberglass and rubber—than about my _friend_. About a human being. The _car_. I hope the goddamn car is in fucking pieces by the time you get back. But even if it was Robin would just get another one. Can't exactly do that with Thomas, now, can you?"*

Higgins threw up her hands in exasperation. "Even if it _is_ broken, it's not that serious an injury! Why either you or he couldn't find the time –"

Thomas stopped her without saying a word. He just moved his hand.

And his entire jaw simply…_slid_ to one side, dropping down almost an inch, his cheek hollowing out as the bone shifted out of place, blood bubbling up past his lips which were already stained crimson, like the palm of his hand that'd been holding it in place. He must've sliced the inside of his cheek on his teeth, blood pooling in his mouth the entire time and Rick felt slightly ill wondering if Magnum had swallowed it or was just letting it slowly seep out against his hand.

Higgins turned green.

Katsumoto, unemotional as ever, deadpanned – "Yeah, that looks dislocated _and_ broken. Sure you don't want to press charges?"

Rick should've kept quiet, but that was never a strong suit of his when his friends were hurt – especially not Thomas. "Yeah, Higgy. I guess you're right. Hardly worth the trip to the hospital, right?"

There was a squawk of indignation from behind them, and the male nurse reappeared before the argument could continue. "What happened? Was it always like this and you just didn't know, or is this worse? Come with me – you've been upgraded to _now_ status." He glanced quickly at Rick. "Family?"

"That's me," Rick said, without a hint of guile.

"I was hoping you'd say that – let's go. You –" he pointed at Magnum. "Hold your hand under your mouth to catch the blood. Biohazard and all that…" Anything else he said to Thomas was lost as he escorted the private investigator back towards what was presumably x-ray and exam.

Rick shot the majordomo a scathing look before following after. "Staring is rude. Don't you have a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar car to worry about?"

If the parting remark had any effect on her, he didn't stick around to find out. Thomas was already trying to look back over his shoulder, wondering where he was, and he couldn't care less about the two people in the ER lobby right now.

* * *

Author's Note: * indicates a paragraph entirely written and donated by gaelicspirit who helped me get through the end of this fic (which has grown to be a monster and is probably going to be a second chapter with the fall out from this as the Big Brother Instinct that blazeofobscurity asked for and I kind of shorted her on).

As always, feel free to come find me on tumblr as disappearinginq!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Despite the last chapter, I don't actually have anything against Katsumoto. I do think he's less of a cuddly/touchy feely person, and comes across deadpan and aloof unless he's really mad. Anyway, this got me out of my writing slump AND covers another block in Bad Things Bingo. Higgins can (and is) get her redemption chapter next time with Big Brother Instinct - 90% of which is already written. But this story just...exploded over night.

* * *

"How is someone so small so goddamn heavy?" Katsumoto cursed, struggling against the increasing weight against his side and across his shoulder.

Magnum stumbled next to him, hand pressed against his side. Blood soaked through his shirt, oozing between his fingers. "If you were bigger, you could carry me instead of dragging me."

"Calvin may be willing to haul your sorry ass through the jungle piggy back style, but I'm not. Even if I was the size of Lou Ferrigno. You're lucky I didn't leave you back there."

Magnum scoffed. Sort of. Some strange cross behind scoff and a giggle and an aborted cry of pain as he stumbled against the uneven terrain. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Now it was Katsumoto's turn to snort. "Yeah, right. If you three idiots didn't come in various shades of brown, I would lay even money you were three thirds of a whole idiot. No way "

The private detective laughed at that, his head lolling back. "The printer ran out of ink. Rick came last."

"Aren't _you _the youngest?"

"By like…six months. Doesn't count." At least, that's what Katsumoto _thought_ he said. The words slurred towards the end, coming out more as 'usn't cow't than anything else. He pushed on, dragging the flagging former SEAL faster.

If the terrain wasn't enough of a problem, the surprise afternoon rainstorm was just the icing on the shit cake of a case. Rain slicked leaves and mud became slicker than swathes of ice, and what energy he wasn't spending on trying to keep Magnum upright and talking was used trying not to trip himself. If they started falling…god only knew where they would stop.

The only blessing was thanks to the torrential downpour, following their trail was impossible, and even though they were practically occupying the same space, they found themselves shouting to be heard. No one chasing them would be able to hear them crashing through the underbrush.

He realized belatedly that Magnum had stopped talking, his head starting to loll, his dark eyes closing for longer and longer. "No, no, don't you dare pass out. Come on, Magnum. Convince me that Calvin and Wright would've left you behind. I want to hear this." He gave a sharp, firm yank on the younger man's side, eliciting a sharp hiss followed by a low moan. He felt only slightly guilty about it. Magnum's eyes blinked open against the rain to shoot him a withering scowl. "Come on. Story time. Let's hear it."

"Wuzzn't _them_…" Magnum slurred, offended the homicide detective would even suggest it. "I din't _know_ them at the ti'e."

"Holy shit. You mean you three didn't come out of the womb holding hands? Color me shocked." He squeezed Magnum's battered rib cage again, but this time, he barely reacted. _Goddammit_. "Stay awake Magnum. I don't know what they gave you, but you gotta stay awake. I can't drag you dead weight through the jungle."

"Have fa'th, Gordie," Magnum said, flashing a brilliant grin. "You're _strong_."

Honestly, Katsumoto was surprised the man was still conscious. The wound in his side wasn't the worst he'd seen Magnum suffer - a bullet graze as they fled - but he was worried about whatever they'd given him _before_ they managed to escape. All the man had said was a vague 'this ought to hold you' as he wrenched Magnum's head to one side, trapped in a headlock even as Magnum yelped in protest, before jabbing a less than hygienic needle into the meat of Magnum's upper arm and emptying the mystery contents.

"Strength has nothing to do with it, Magnum. I didn't train for years to survive in the jungle, in the rain, with no supplies, no phone, dragging a body with me. If roles were reversed, it'd be different but…" he struggled to maintain his breathing. It would be easier if he wasn't trying to talk, but if he didn't talk, Magnum was going to lose consciousness even faster. "Tell me about this mythical time before Rick and TC."

"It _sucked_," Magnum huffed. Emphatically.

Anything else he might've said was cut off as Gordon's foot caught on something in the mud. Already horribly off balance and exhausted, Katsumoto stumbled, going to his knees before half-assedly catching himself with one hand to keep from face planting in muck and mire. Magnum wasn't so lucky. He landed, hard, on his injured side, not even bothering trying to stop his fall. The only reason he didn't land face down was because his arm was still around Gordon's neck.

Katsumoto went to push himself to his feet and didn't even make it half way before collapsing back down. It was cold - it may be a tropical island, but the rain was still bone chilling, especially after more than an hour out in it with nothing but work clothes. His shoes were meant for the office, not running through the woods in the rain, and the ruined leather pinched and pulled and rubbed at feet through thin socks. His legs burned. His side ached every time he tried to breathe in any deeper than quick, useless gasps. He didn't even know where they were, or how far they'd come. They had no phone - the bad guys had taken both of theirs, crushing them underfoot as they questioned how Magnum and Katsumoto found them. He couldn't keep running blind.

He couldn't keep running at all.

Magnum lay on his side, staring up at the rain, his hair somehow managing to stick straight up despite being soaked. Long lashes blinked slowly against paling cheeks, and for some absurd reason that Katsumoto couldn't fathom, he was smiling drunkenly up at the angry, dark sky like it was the best thing that could be happening.

"It's rainin', Gordie," Magnum said, still smiling. "Rain is good."

_Jesus Christ_, Katsumoto thought. _Literally a cloud with a silver lining_. One of these days, he would have to seriously ask Magnum how he managed to be so upbeat no matter what shit show he found himself in, but right now… "I'm sorry, Magnum. I can't do it. If we keep running…we're just going to die out here instead of back there."

Magnum snorted, then coughed as he accidentally inhaled water. "Good place t'stop."

At first, Gordon thought he'd finally lost it. It wasn't until he realized that Magnum wasn't looking straight up at the sky, he was actually looking off to Katsumoto's side, just to the left of his elbow.

Katsumoto hadn't been looking around them. He was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, straining to hear over the torrential rain, worrying that while the rain made good cover for them, it would do the same for anyone chasing them. Every noise was a potential danger. So preoccupied with their pursuers, he hadn't even noticed that what tripped him was the roots of an enormous koa tree. The rainforest was filled with them, so he hadn't paid any extra attention to it.

Until he tripped in front of it.

And saw that it was covering a cave.

He could've cried.

Katsumoto pushed aside the viney undergrowth to get a better look. It was less a cave, more a sheltered overhang or outcropping, the tree's massive root system holding it in place. He put his hand on the ground inside the natural shelter. The dirt was damp, moist but not soaked and the run off went around the tree without coming underneath. It was barely big enough for the two of them, but at least it wasn't in the open and unless the bad guys tripped and fell in the same spot he had, they would miss it walking by.

He grabbed the private detective underneath his shoulders, braced his feet against the ground and pulled the younger man underneath the outcropping in one swift motion that left both of them panting for air. Katsumoto didn't even care that there wasn't enough space to move. The space was hardly large enough for two kids, never mind two grown men, and he didn't have the energy to push Magnum off of him now, and Magnum didn't have the energy to do…well, pretty much anything.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Katsumoto was too relieved to think about anything else beyond the simple fact that they were both alive, and for the moment, safe. He didn't dare consider what could happen later. Or how long they could be stuck here.

Magnum's breathing started to slow, evening out as he started to drift off and Katsumoto almost let him. Except for a terrifying thought of the unknown - would the detective ever wake up again, what exactly he was given, and would his amazingly awful luck finally give out - and he used his knee to prod him awake.

"It's not nap time," Gordon chastised. "Stay awake. Didn't you have to do this during SEAL training? Talk to me."

Magnum's eyes fluttered open, rolling as he tried to find something to focus on. "Been _years_ Gordie."

"Tell me about it anyway."

Magnum's head rolled in what Katsumoto could only guess was a head shake of refusal. "No. Has Nuz innit."

Katsumoto had never met the fourth Musketeer. Heard enough about him to know it was a tricky subject at the best of times, and this was clearly _not_ one of those times. "Fine. Tell me something else. Make something up if you have to.

Magnum said nothing.

Grasping at straws, Katsumoto asked "Those friends of yours - they have some way of keeping tabs on you, right? Besides a Find My Friends app, right? Or Higgins has you Lo-jacked in case you run off with the Ferrari?"

Magnum snorted at that. "Car is tagged, no'me."

Goddammit. "That doesn't answer about your friends."

"Rain."

What the hell did _that_ mean? Why did Magnum seem to think that the rain was the answer to everything?

Magnum started to slip again, and Katsumoto shook him awake again. "Still not nap time."

"So _mean_…"

"Yep," he agreed. "Incredibly mean. Stay awake or I'll get meaner. I know you don't normally listen to pretty much anyone, but just this once, surprise me and do what you're told."

"N'ever work'd for me in th' past."

Katsumoto considered that for a moment. He was honest with himself - the only SEAL he knew was McGarrett, and to be perfectly truthful, he was not a fan. McGarrett reminded him of those Old West marshals that pointed to their badges and said 'this means I can do whatever I want'. He wasn't sure what strings were pulled to give 5-0 a blanket 'no knock' warrant for every suspect or allowed them free use of the Patriot Act that let them arrest without due process or cause, but he didn't like it. He liked _by the book_ because it protected both the Department _and_ civilians. There was a reason the phrase was 'innocent until proven guilty', not the other way around. He believed in the motto of the police department, that he was there to protect _and_ serve, not serve as judge, jury, and executioner.

He was not so secretly pleased that when Grover tried to strong arm Magnum into obeying, the private detective gave them his patented smirk and equivalent of 'get bent'.

He felt like he was always trying to claw his way back to square one with civilians - every time a police officer was involved in an unarmed shooting, an unjust racial profile, a corruption charge or accusation of sweeping things under the rug, it felt like a personal failure on his part. Every time. And with cops like that, who never answered for anything, he could hardly fault the general population for being afraid of the badge and the people behind it.

"How _did_ you wind up a SEAL?" Katsumoto asked. "You're the most Stick-It-To-The-Man person I've ever met."

Magnum snorted at that. "I wasn' a very good one."

Gordon considered all he'd seen the man survive. "I don't buy it. Or is that how you wound up best friends with two Marines instead of a squad of Navy guys?"

Magnum was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Katsumoto had to check more than once to see if the man was still awake. Dark eyes half hooded, but open, and aware as could be expected in the circumstances. He didn't push him to talk. The goal was to keep him awake, not go prying around in the man's personal life.

He was surprised when Magnum finally spoke. Slowly, and purposely, though the words still slurred together. "I broke the rules. Next time we went out…Chief didn't want me coming back. Nuz made sure I did."

Something cold settled in his stomach that had nothing to do with their current predicament. Three simple sentences, and his view on Magnum skewed violently. Magnum drove him crazy, but not enough to seriously consider trying to kill him. He was one of the most obnoxiously moral people Gordon had ever met, which was the only reason he'd given up on arresting the man every time he skirted the law. Legality didn't always equal morality, and Katsumoto had to begrudgingly admit that if Magnum was breaking the letter of the law, he was doing it to uphold the spirit of another.

"The hell kinda rule did you break that made your boss try to kill you?" He'd meant it rhetorically, not expecting an answer at all.

"Din't keep it in house. Told Greene. Went aroun' the Chain. Called me a traitor. Left me for dead." Magnum hummed under his breath. "He was _evil_." The statement was quiet, but such conviction it felt tangible in the air around them. "Nuz came for me. Always came for me. Couldn't be a Team of two."

"So you got Wright and Calvin," Katsumoto surmised. Now _that_ made sense. Magnum might be a magnet for trouble, but he had one of those magnetic personalities that created their own orbit, and everyone who found themselves pulled in wound up changed by it. A genius pilot and a…well, he was afraid to put to words what he thought Wright was - and a now burned British agent turned housekeeper, a grandmother without grandchildren, and very, very begrudgingly…himself.

"Spare parts and broken pieces," Magnum said, his mouth curving up in a smile. "Haven't lef' me yet."

Katsumoto huffed at that, steering the conversation away from a topic he knew Magnum would never discuss if he had his wits about him. "Why do you think I haven't ditched you? Knowing those guys, they've already called in a favor, hidden some bodies, burned the drug lab, somehow made it look like an accident and are already half way to us. I lose you, and no one will ever find my body."

Magnum straight up laughed, a drunken giggle that ended in a snort of pain as he pressed his hand against his side again. "Not wrong."

There was a long stretch of silence after that. Gordon checked the private detective on a regular basis, but he didn't try to get him to talk again. No more than he needed to to make sure he was aware of his surroundings and who he was. He didn't know how long they remained sheltered in place, listening to the rain and the sounds of the jungle. If circumstances were different, it would be almost soothing.

"At least the rain is letting up," Katsumoto observed, breaking the quiet. The torrential downpour had stopped while he wasn't paying attention. The water falling down was just the remnants of the storm, trickling off the dense forest canopy above them. "Small favor."

And then he heard it - a loud crashing through the underbrush. Too many and too big to be the wild pigs the environmental agencies were trying to eradicate. Voices. Unintelligible, but getting louder as they drew closer.

Unbelievable. They couldn't have traipsed by in the rain?

"Rain stopped?" Magnum echoed, before a slow smile almost split his face in two. And before he could stop him, Magnum lurched forwards, so abruptly Gordon missed the back of his shirt as he grabbed wildly for the fabric, his fingertips just grazing the Hawaiian print.

"Magnum!" he hissed, not willing to shout. "Get -"

"Thomas!"

"TM!"

"Hey guys!"

No way.

Absolutely no _fucking_ way.

He pulled himself out of their hiding spot, blinking in the comparative brightness. He had to be seeing things.

"Hey, detective," TC said, lowering what was likely a less than legal AR-15 borrowed off of Wright. "Happy to see us?"

It wasn't just Wright and Calvin. It was half the HPD, spread out in classic search pattern across the jungle in a line. Magnum was leaning hard against Rick, who somehow managed to hold the other man upright in on arm while holding a firearm in the other, even as he tried to get Magnum to hold still long enough to inspect the damage.

It was…surreal.

"Admit it," he demanded, jabbing an accusing finger at Calvin. "You _do _have him Lo-jacked."

* * *

Magnum would be fine. The bullet wound was a through and through and the private detective seemed to forget about it on a regular basis until he took a corner to sharply and hit the stitches on a doorknob, or something else as ridiculously absent-minded. The mystery substance was thankfully only some mixture of the drugs used in dental surgery. Apparently, the bad guys thought it would be enough to keep a former SEAL from escaping, because it worked on everyone else they did it to.

Magnum joked that it would've worked, if they'd given it to Katsumoto, too, and the only reason they escaped was because Gordon dragged him through the jungle.

Katsumoto hadn't realized until that moment that Magnum honestly forgot the series of events. _Magnum_ was the one that got loose first. _Magnum_ was the one who picked Katsumoto's own handcuffs before grabbing the detective by the back of his shirt and hauling ass towards the tree line. _Magnum_ was the one who, and god only knew how, managed to blow up the bad guys' truck as they were escaping. All _after_ being drugged. The only time Katsumoto helped was after Magnum had been _shot_.

He tried to correct Magnum more than once, and each time, Magnum was adamant. Gordon saved _him_, not the other way around.

"You can try and correct him a million times," Rick pointed out. "Thomas is gonna tell it the way he sees it."

LaMariana was mostly empty at the hour, too late for lunch and too early for the night scene. As seemed to be a developing habit, he met Magnum and his friends to give them the official word on the case closing, and Magnum talked him into staying for a beer.

"Come _on,_" Magnum urged, that stupid smile that meant he knew he'd already won an argument plastered across his face. "Relax, have some fun, you're off duty, and you earned it. I'll even pay for the first round!"

"Don't you mean _I__'ll _pay for the first round?" Rick challenged. "You haven't paid a bar tab since you turned twenty-one."

"Yes, that's what I said." Before Rick could contradict him, Magnum was already off to the dart board for another round with Kumu and Higgins.

When Rick pushed an open beer in front of him, Katsumoto tried to hand him a five, and Rick shook his head. "Your money's no good here." He smirked. "At least not for the first one."

Gordon was tempted to resist it, but damn the man if he hadn't picked his favorite - Maui Coconut Porter - and he took it with a wry smirk. "What the hell. Free beer is free beer."

"I figure it's the least I can do for you for looking after him."

Katsumoto sipped his beer, savoring the flavor, debating how he wanted to ask his next question. "I take it that isn't always the case?"

Wright was not exactly what most people considered an intimidating man. He was affable, likable, charming and quick with the sarcasm. But Gordon would bet even money none of those people had the man stare at them the way Rick was staring at him now.

"What do you know?" Short, to the point. Vaguely threatening.

"Nothing, for sure." Which he didn't. Magnum was incredibly vague about details, but Gordon could easily put together the picture from the bits and pieces. "I was trying to keep him talking to keep him conscious, and I asked why his best friends were a couple of Marines, not Teamsters."

"We have the better personalities," Rick said flippantly.

Katsumoto didn't miss the way he clenched the empty beer mug in his hand, or the way his knuckles whitened against it.

"Did his commanding officer really leave him for dead?"

The sniper sized him up, his gaze flicking towards TC and Thomas and the ladies as if to double check that his friend was still there - safe and well - before settling back on the detective.

"Eddie Gallagher was a monster. He wasn't a SEAL because he wanted to help, he was in it for the blood. Shot anything that moved. Killed civilians and hostiles alike. But no one said anything, because that's not how you do."

_Broke the rules. Went around the Chain_.

The words seemed haunting now.

"But Magnum did."

Rick nodded. "Went outside the Team to do it, too. But nobody backed his story because Gallagher was a terrifying dude. They knew if they said anything, their careers were over - _if_ they were lucky."

_He was __**evil**_.

"Next time they went out, Nuzo got left behind, Thomas split off with Gallagher. That was the last time anyone from the Team saw him. At least, until Nuzo went back out without permission or telling anyone, and he found him half dead in the water, shot in the back with a dead local girl next to him and wild dogs trying to finish him off."

"And Gallagher?"

"Navy doesn't like to be embarrassed. It looks bad when one of you 'elite fighting men' becomes a war criminal. The trial was short, private, and he was acquitted of almost everything, despite the rest of the Team finally getting a back bone and testifying against him. OJ had nothing on that bullshit. Thomas was black marked by the SEALs - even though Gallagher was a piece of shit, you don't rat on your Team. Nobody wanted to work with him, and after Gallagher, Thomas had some serious fucking trust issues with the Teams _and_ Big Navy and pretty much anyone who was in a position of authority. But they couldn't fire him or retire him because he hadn't actually committed a crime, and Thomas was _good_ at his they just…" Rick waved a dismissive hand. "Let him do whatever."

_Spare parts and broken pieces_.

Katsumoto couldn't think of anything to add, so he didn't. Issues with authority was one thing. Someone trying to kill you for having a conscience was another. He had a feeling he could know Magnum for the next twenty years and never really know him, but at least…he had some insight.

"And Gordon?"

He raised his eyes to meet Rick's.

"You abuse his trust, and they'll never find you."

In was an absolute promise, Katsumoto knew. But he laughed anyway, because he'd said almost the same thing to Magnum in the jungle. "Trust _me_, Wright. I know."

* * *

Author's Note: Eddie Gallagher is a real person. Look him up. His character is not exaggerated. The more I watch Magnum, the more I wonder if they'll ever bring up how he wound up a SEAL team of 2 with Nuzo, with his Go-To team being a couple of Marines, or why he ran ops like the CIA would. Nothing he does in canon is what a SEAL mission would be, it's what SPIES would be doing. So I decided to come up with my own solution for why that would be. Also, if anyone is playing Head Canon Becoming Canon Bingo with me, I now win with 'everyone thought they were dead while they were imprisoned'! WOO!

Anyway. Feel free to come and find me on Tumblr disappearinginq! I promise I don't bite!


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Remember when I said that Higgins gets a redemption? I lied. After the fucking iawful/i way they ended the finale (and I'm sorry, there is no way to describe other than textbook white privilege, borderline colonialism, and just lazy writing) I decided I am not giving her a redemption, and I'm just going to pretend she doesn't exist, because as the new Robin Masters, she can be invisible for once.

Anyway. This is for blazeofobscurity, who listens to me bitch and moans for hours about plot lines and bunnies that just need to be discussed. There's actually a second part to this, but which will detail how the mission goes sideways, Rick and Magnum almost die, and the circle of Ride or Die becomes whole.

* * *

Rick pressed a hand to his nose, sniffing when he saw blood stain the back of it. "What do you want from me?"

The young lieutenant sat opposite him, spinning the chair around so that he straddled the seat, leaning his chin on folded arms. "They talk about you like you're some sort of legend. Guys think they're invincible when you're Overwatch. You been here…what, three tours already?"

Rick said nothing. Officers had only one use for him, and he'd be damned if he was going to offer anything of his own free will. The lieutenant clearly already had enough information on him. Nobody talked like bored Marines downrange.

"You been home in all that time?"

Rick laughed, a harsh, derisive bark more than genuine amusement. He could taste blood from a cut in his cheek on his tongue, and he spat at the floor. "For what? So I can get shot at there instead of here? Least here I get paid - tax free."

"One tour is hard. Two is tough. Three is a form of self torture."

"Maybe that's my gig. Self-flagellation. It's a little hard to find a BDSM club out here though, so I gotta improvise."

The lieutenant was quiet for a moment, and Rick had to consciously force himself not to fidget beneath that steady gaze. "Why don't you have a spotter anymore?"

"I like to work alone."

The lieutenant squinted at him, giving a small shake of his head. "Nah. If that was true, you wouldn't be the guy you go to. No one would come fucking near you."

"Go to?" he echoed, snorting. "For what?"

"Everything. Seems you know a guy just about everywhere in the world, Sarge. That's not the type of person who likes to work alone. So. What gives? Why no spotter? You that special? Don't need a second set of eyes, 'cause you don't miss? Did I hear that right?"

His first shot on his first tour - the first time he fired a gun at another human being - flashed so violently through his mind's eye he physically flinched. He grabbed the bottle in front of him, taking a long, hard drink. The heat of the winter sun. The pressure of the M-82 against his cheek. The smooth pull of the trigger in between heartbeats and the explosion of blood through the scope. The kid next to him clapping him on the shoulder as he congratulated him like he'd just scored the perfect wave out on Waimea Bay instead of taking a human life.

Or like it was trophy hunting.

"I like to work alone."

Again, that stare. The feeling like the lieutenant could see past the flimsy shell straight to his rotting core without ever saying a word. Rick could sit still for hours. Whole nights and days. But something about that dark-eyed, all knowing stare made him want to turn away.

"I know burnout when I see it."

Rick folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in the chair. "You know, I'm not the only one with a reputation here," he said. "Rumor has it you turned on your Team. Never seen a SEAL out here on their own. Guy's gotta wonder how long you can tread water out here, all by your lonesome."

"We know how rumors are," the lieutenant dismissed.

"Yeah - that there's a little bit of truth to all of them. So what's your truth, LT? You do it? Turn on your guys 'cause you didn't like getting your hands dirty? How's the SEAL liking it down here in the mud with the rest of us poor fucks?"

The younger man didn't necessarily flinch, but the reaction was just as telling. Those expressive eyes went completely blank, flat as that of any predator, closing him off as easily as slamming a door in Rick's face.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Rick sneered, taking another long, hard pull from the bottle. He'd regret his decisions tomorrow, but for now…for now it was still tonight, and he hadn't drunk _nearly_ enough to be able to sleep. The high pitched whine still echoed in the back of his mind and he wondered if there was enough alcohol on base to silence it. He was willing to test that theory.

"You know, most snipers, they're not bothered by their jobs. What's so different for you? If you hate it, why the three back to backs? Why not take the money and bounce?"

"Who says I hate my job?" Rick said, noticing his words were finally starting to slur. That might be more rage than liquor, though. Or maybe a concussion. "Maybe I love it."

The lieutenant laughed at that - just as hollow and empty as those eyes suddenly were. "That why you come out here every night to get your ass kicked? Drink until you pass out, someone drags you back to your rack, just to do it all again tomorrow? Some kinda love, man."

Rick pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly when his heel caught on the leg of the chair as he shoved it back. "Fine, sir. You seem to have a particular story in your head already, so why don't you just tell me instead of making me fucking guess, huh?"

"I think you hate it. I think you hate even more that you're good at it. Maybe the fucking best at it. I think you come in here and let someone kick the shit out of you so you feel as broken and bruised on the outside as you do on the inside. That on some level, you think you deserve it. Except I don't think you're haunted by the lives you take. I think you're haunted by the ones you didn't save. I bet if I asked how many targets you eliminated, you wouldn't be able to come within half a mile of an accurate number, but if I asked how many died under your watch you could tell me their names and fucking describe them to a sketch artist."

"Fuck off, _sir_ -" Rick snarled. "I asked - what do _**you**_ want from _**me**_. Either in you're in trouble, someone else is in trouble, you need something, or you want me back outside the wire tomorrow, and we both know that officers don't _ask_, they _tell_. So if you've come in here to make it seem like I have a choice when we both fucking know I don't, then you're a special kind of asshole. Now, how 'bout for real this time - _what do you want from me_?"

The lieutenant was quiet for a long moment, and Rick thought maybe he'd stunned the pretty-boy SEAL into not answering. _Typical goddamn bars and stars_, Rick thought nastily. _They can always push until someone pushes back_.

"Your pilot sent me to you."

Rick blinked. "TC?"

"Seems in your down time, you're a hell of a door gunner. Not sure what you did or who you pissed off to pull duty for two totally separate MOS's downrange, but…I guess that's the world we live in. I came to you because I have an assignment beyond the fence. I need an Overwatch, and I would prefer to have you."

"Yeah? Get someone else."

"I don't _want_ someone else, Sarge. I want _you_. But I won't make you go. Your choice."

He outright sniggered at that, staring at the bottle abandoned on the table, suddenly wondering what could be in there that caused auditory hallucinations. "Choice. Yeah, right. Fine, _sir_. I'll play. Why me?"

The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, gripping the back where he'd been leaning, fingers white knuckled around the battered and stained wood. "Because I want someone who still sees _people_ when they look down their scope. Because I want someone who knows that every target is a human being. Because I want someone who will only pull the trigger when he has to. Because I _don't_ want a machine. To be honest, I don't want you to have to pull the trigger at all, but if things go that south…I want minimum casualties. Not a goddamn shooting gallery."

Of all things the man could've said, that was so far down on the list it wasn't even _on_ the list. Rick stared at the man, really _looking_ at him for the first time since he sat down in front of him. He was young. Probably not nearly as young as he looked, but downrange had a way of bringing out painful reminders that the old were not who were sent to die, but the young. He'd only run into a couple of SEALs - mostly during EXFIL with TC, but a few times in places like here, times like tonight - when he couldn't tell they were still human. The world was black and white to them. It was 'them or us' - always. No exceptions. Their jobs didn't allow for those.

If Rick didn't know the rumors, hadn't heard the story or seen the trident on the man's left shoulder, he would've never believed he was one of them. He was too…honest. Rick was pretty good at reading people. With his family, you had to be. It only helped him during his service. He knew who to trust, who couldn't lie to save their ass, and who you avoided at all costs.

But…

Rick scowled, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm going to ask you one question, and don't you dare think about lying to me. Are _all_ the rumors true about you?"

"In my defense, I didn't know the horse belonged to Sheikh Muhammed at the time."

Despite his best efforts not to, Rick laughed at that. It was thin, and brittle, but genuine. Damn the man. "Fair enough. But I could've guessed that one. That's not the one I wanna know about."

The lieutenant fidgeted, the first sign in this entire conversation that he even _could_ be rattled, not meeting Rick's steady gaze. "I don't - "

"I said no bullshit."

The younger man looked down his hands, sucking in a breath as he rapidly drummed his fingers against the back of the chair before pushing himself to his feet to look Rick steadily in the eye. "I can't promise to bring you back alive. But hell or high water, no one is left behind. Everyone comes home. _Everyone._"

It was something out of a movie. People didn't talk like that, not really. But instead of coming off as cheesy and campy and utter horseshit that officers thought sounded inspiring despite everyone rolling their eyes, Rick found himself stunned by the quiet earnestness there and the open honesty. The lieutenant meant every word.

_Goddammit, _he cursed himself. _I actually believe him_.

Not that he was about to tell _him_ that.

"I still don't know that I trust you, _sir_," he finally admitted. "But I got your back."

If the rumor's were true…someone had to.

* * *

Author's Note: Sound like Star Trek reboot? Yes it does, because it's an awesome trope, and I love it. Anyway, I wanted something that was short, not so sweet and to the point, and at least touched on the issues of what Rick carries with him as a scout sniper (according to his ribbon and medal rack).


End file.
